Leap, Plunge and Move On
by Coast2Coast
Summary: Sam Beckett leaps into Rupert Giles a little over a week before the final conflict with Glory.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer – not mine. Quantum Leap – also not mine. Not making money though so please don't hurt me.

Author's Note on Timing (If you share my personality characteristic of anal-retentiveness or a morbid fascination with minutiae):

BtVS: post-Intervention. This fic starts on the day after the events in 'Intervention' which means the extent of the Scoobies' knowledge of Glory is that she's a god and wants the Key. I have assumed an interval of a little over a week between the end of 'Intervention' and the beginning of 'Tough Love'; during this time Glory is primarily in her Ben persona. Although they spanned a month in TV time, the final four episodes of Season 5 had an internal elapsed time of no more than two or three days. Because of this, I'm placing the date of Buffy's plunge from the tower on May 4th.

QL: Quantum Leap was set in the 'future' of the late '90s and Sam only leaped back to the past. Late Season 5 of BtVS was set in 2001. I'm resolving the time dilemma by saying that Sam Beckett has been leaping for about 2 years and he leaped for the first time in 2005 so anything before that is the past, from the perspective of the QL Project, and therefore fair game.

Leap, Plunge and Move On  
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Quantum Leap Crossover  
By Coast2Coast

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001  
Apartment of Rupert Giles  
Sunnydale, California

Dr. Samuel Beckett felt the tingling rush of the Leap effect slowly dissipate and he blinked and stretched to dispel the disorientation from his mind and body. He began a slow, careful perusal of his immediate surroundings with as little movement as possible, having learned from experience that the first few moments of a Leap could be hazardous in any number of ways if he wasn't sufficiently cautious.

This time, he seemed to be in a safe environment and alone. His gaze drifted over the comfortable looking furniture, fireplace and bookshelves in the casual lounge area of what appeared to be an apartment or small condominium. He rose from his seat on the couch and turned in a circle, noting the stairs leading up to a loft, the counter separating the entryway from the kitchen and a hallway that led to a blank wall with recesses on either side that suggested, based on the floor plan he could see from his position, another room and a second entrance.

Sam glanced down to see a dark gray dress shirt and conservative tie, suit trousers and a pair of black dress shoes. He breathed a sigh of relief. Two of the things he most dreaded in a Leap had been avoided: he wasn't a woman and/or scantily clad.

Since the hologram of Admiral Al Calavicci had yet to appear on the scene, Sam decided to see how much he could discover about his latest host while he awaited the arrival of his sole guide and confidant. He approached a mirror that hung on the wall over an antique wash stand and considered his reflection.

He appeared to be a man in his forties with medium brown hair shot with silver. His face was pleasant and handsome, in a subtle but assured manner, but it was somewhat lined and careworn - as though he were stressed or overworked. Sam removed the glasses that perched on his nose to get a closer look at an intriguing amber patch in the man's left eye but as soon as the lenses had cleared his face the image in the mirror became too indistinct for him to see any detail.

The sound of the Imaging Room door sliding open caused Sam to turn. The movement in the brilliantly backlit rectangle signaled the arrival of his friend. Sam hesitated a moment before restoring the eyeglasses to their previous position because the blur of chartreuse, orange and purple telegraphed the fact that Al had exceeded even his own high standards of outrageous sartorial taste.

"Hiya, Sam," sounded Al's gravelly but cheerful voice. "How's the boy?"

"I seem to be okay. How much do you know about the situation so far?" Sam inquired, squinting as his eyes readjusted to the change in light level as Al closed the portal to the Imaging Room.

"Not much in the way of facts or details but enough to make me think this one's gonna be interesting in the worst possible way," Al groused.

"What makes you say that? Did you talk to the man I Leaped into? Who is he and what did he say?" Sam wanted to know.

"I wouldn't say I talked to him, exactly. As for who he is, I've got Ziggy working on it. All I can tell you at the moment is that he's British, royally pissed off and possibly psychotic."

"Psychotic?" Sam echoed in a worried tone. He mentally measured the man's ordinary appearance and his prosaic surroundings against his faith in Al's judgment.

"Take it easy," Al recommended. "I said 'possibly'. He's definitely British. It's rare to hear an American call someone a 'bloody pillock' but I've got plenty of pals in the Royal Navy who use that term, and worse," Al said with a grin. "As far as the attitude and mental state of our new acquaintance, the minute I stepped into the Waiting Room he grabbed me by the neck, lifted me right off my feet and slammed me into a wall," Al admitted, shrugging one shoulder and glancing away.

Although Sam could see no signs of physical damage, he knew such an experience would rankle with his friend. Al's sense of self-worth and masculinity was tied to his mental and physical toughness. Before Sam could offer a comforting comment, Al went on.

"Thank God I've learned some pretty crafty moves of my own. I managed to get away from him and out of the room. I've got Dr. Beeks watching him and if he doesn't calm down soon I'll have Ziggy dose him with tranquilizer gas. I'd rather not do it," Al said, frowning and shaking his head. "It doesn't inspire trust and that makes it harder to get the information we need to figure out what you're here to change."

"So you think he's psychotic because he attacked you?" Sam asked.

"Nah, that's happened before. It was the weird stuff he said," Al replied.

"Such as?"

Al screwed up his face in concentration. "He said I was 'uglier than the average minion' and that I could tell 'that bitch-god Glorificus' that she wasn't going to get anything out of him, no matter what. He also suggested I 'scurry on back to my hell dimension' if I knew what was good for me. The guy's got a wicked growl when he's agitated and it seemed like he was perfectly serious."

Sam's eyes had opened wider and wider as Al recounted his interaction with the man whose body Sam now inhabited. "'Bitch-god'? 'Hell dimension'?" he repeated in consternation. "What the heck kind of situation have I landed in this time, Al?"

"I honestly don't know, pal," Al sighed. "But since your host isn't in a very forthcoming frame of mind I figure we'd better snoop around here while we wait for Ziggy to come up with something."

Al tailed Sam as he worked his way around the apartment. The addressee on every envelope in a stack of mail on the desk was Rupert Giles of Sunnydale, California. Sam leafed through a leather-bound book and showed it to Al. "It's a journal," Sam said, glancing at a few pages that were covered with bold, distinctive handwriting. "Maybe he's a writer. It looks like he's been writing down ideas for a horror novel," Sam guessed after seeing words like 'vampire', 'demon' and 'blood ritual'.

"Maybe," Al replied, surveying the lounge area and its heavily-laden bookcases. "He sure likes books."

They wandered upstairs and Sam went through the small closet and chest quickly.

"Well, there's no woman on the scene," Al decided. "Or another guy, either. All those clothes are the same size and the same shade of boring. You'd think a guy who could cuss and fight like that would at least have interesting underwear," he sniffed in derision.

Sam grinned. "Black silk boxers and gray stretch trunks are plenty interesting in my book. He may talk like a crazy man but at least I'll be comfortable in his wardrobe."

"You've got no sense of style, Sam," Al complained as he followed his friend downstairs and into the kitchen. "Why, if you knew the kind of action you could get if you just broadened your horizons a little..."

"Al," Sam cut in. "Can we focus here, please? If this guy is as weird as you say I'd like to find out why I'm here and fix things as quickly as possible so I can Leap."

"Okay, okay," Al replied and then nodded while pointing at several cans in the cupboard Sam had just opened which were labeled 'Batchelor's Mushy Original Cooked Dry Peas'. "Yup, definitely a subject of the Crown."

Before Sam could reply to this observation the front door swung open, without a knock or any other warning, and a petite, young blonde woman strode into the entryway.

"Hi, Giles," she said by way of greeting as she continued on into the lounge. "We thought we'd come by and catch a ride with you back to the Magic Box."

"'We'?" Sam queried nervously.

"We," came another voice.

Sam turned back toward the door to see a slim redhead with a pixyish grin and a more generously shaped young woman with a shy smile enter and close the door.

"This is more like it," Al said with sincere satisfaction. "He may have lousy taste in clothes but I can't fault his taste in women. Are you sure you're eager to Leap now, Sam?" Al asked with a lascivious grin as he relocated to get a better look at the blonde.

"Great," Sam muttered under his breath. "It's going to be at least an hour before I get anything useful out of him now."

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Monday March 19th, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

Rupert Giles ended the final in an uncounted number of circuits of the room in which he was trapped by halting at the main feature of the otherwise unadorned cell - a low, highly polished table of a shape and size that would allow it to be used as a resting platform. The reflection in the mirror-smooth surface of the table was that of a man in his mid-thirties with a strong chin, friendly, open features, a shock of white at the front of his golden-brown head of hair and keen, hazel eyes. The sight of a completely unfamiliar reflection staring back at him wasn't his only, or even primary, concern.

Giles sighed in frustration. He was beginning to regret his precipitous attack on the only person who had attempted to speak to him, or even appear in the room. At the time, he had reacted on the assumption that Glory had used a spell to abduct and imprison him. After more sober reflection and investigation he found he could detect no evidence of an aftereffect of magic use. And the man he had accosted had appeared human; for all that his ludicrous costume suggested a demon of some kind.

Giles sank onto the table, rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands. He was tired; exhausted in a bone-deep sort of way that he failed, every night, to alleviate with the few hours of sleep he allowed himself. There was always another book to read, manuscript to decipher, progressively more distant contacts to call for any scrap of information - no matter how small or questionably relevant.

And where had it left him? He had been separated from his friends and his duty by an unknown element. Although it had been against his will and out of his control he felt a familiar welling of unwarranted guilt that he was not at Buffy's side, working with their companions to, once again, fend off the agents of the Dark forces.

Giles now had serious doubts about the idea that Glory had somehow brought about this state of affairs. From what they had learned about the hell-god, it was clear she was severely lacking in impulse control. It was highly unlikely that she would have delayed the opportunity to gloat over her small victory, taunt him and, of course, begin her campaign to wrest whatever information she could from him.

He turned his considerable intellect to the task of identifying what other entity might have the ability and inclination to interfere in the affairs of the Slayer and her Watcher. Something in the feel of the featureless room struck a slight chord of familiarity in him and he latched onto the thread of an idea.

At that moment, the doorway through which the garishly dressed man had earlier entered slid open and Giles rose and turned to see a lovely black woman step across the threshold and stop, maintaining as much distance from him as possible while remaining in the same room. The juxtaposition of the figure of the woman, who wore a white lab coat, and the scowling, armed, fatigue-dressed young man who stood behind her leant credence to the suspicion that had begun to blossom in the Watcher's mind.

"So, I presume you are Maggie Walsh's successor?" he challenged the woman.

"Who?" Dr. Verbena Beeks inquired with a curious tilt of her head.

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam tried, with marginal success, not to stagger as he followed the three young women through the door into a shop at the end of a street lined with quaint storefront businesses. He sincerely hoped his heart rate would slow soon or there was the distinct possibility he would faint. He now understood the reason for the concerned glances the redhead and the shy girl - whose names he had learned were Willow and Tara - had shared when he suggested the blonde they called Buffy drive them to the Magic Box. Since he hadn't known what the Magic Box was, much less where it was located, it had seemed a good idea at the time. He hoped that he could remember enough of the landmarks he had glimpsed to find his way 'home', as he certainly wasn't planning to ask Buffy to chauffeur him again.

"Wow," Al exclaimed. "I'm glad I'm not here in the flesh. That girl has **got** to be the worst driver in the entire world. I thought you guys were goners when she ran that stop sign."

Sam, unable to speak to his companion - who was invisible and inaudible to the others - settled for a weak grin and a heavy swallow.

"Hey, Xander!" Buffy shouted, approaching a dark-haired young man who was seated at a table a fair distance across the room. "Giles let me drive his car!"

Xander rose from the table and turned quickly, passing Buffy on his way to confront Sam. He reached out and grasped the older man by the elbow. "Are you okay, G-man?" he asked, raking a concerned glance from Sam's face to his toes and back. "I didn't think anything short of a life-threatening injury would compel you to ride in a car Buffy was driving - and you let her drive your Beemer?"

"I... I had a headache and my vision was a little blurry," Sam explained, repeating the excuse he had used earlier. "I thought it would be better if someone else drove."

Xander considered this statement with obvious skepticism. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked.

"Ah, no - actually," Sam admitted. In fact he was dizzy, nauseous and extremely jumpy from the residual adrenaline in his system.

"There's a big surprise," Xander said, leading him over to a seat at the table. "You didn't even yell at me for calling you G-man," he added, shaking his head in sympathy. "I'll get you some tea."

"Th... thank you," Sam said, making a mental note to take exception to the appellation in the future.

"We're alive, too," Willow informed Xander shakily, as she and Tara slid gratefully into wonderfully solid and unmoving chairs on the other side of the table. "Thanks for your concern."

"I'm making cups for you guys, too," Xander replied. "But he had to worry about his car as well as his skin - and I'll bet you made him sit up front."

"It was his idea," Willow shot back.

Sam accepted the cup of tea Xander offered him. The young man was correct. Willow and Tara had all but dived into the back of the car, leaving the shotgun seat for him. It had taken every shred of self-control he could muster to prevent himself from grabbing the steering wheel on any number of occasions and his right ankle and knee were throbbing from the amount of pressure with which he had applied his right foot to the floor board in front of him - for all the good it had done him.

"It wasn't **that** bad. I think I'm getting the hang of this driving thing," Buffy said breezily, then sent her frown around the table when no one spoke up in her defense.

"Yeah, well **any**way," Xander interrupted before things could devolve further. "I guess we should get back into Research Mode."

"Where are Dawn and Anya?" Willow asked, glancing around the shop.

"Dawn was feeling a little cooped up so she went with Anya to the bank to deposit the day's receipts," Xander told them. "They're going to pick up dinner on the way back." He turned to Sam. "Anya was on cloud nine. You really ought to let her handle the money stuff more often."

"I'll see what I can do," Sam replied absentmindedly. The warm, soothing tea had begun to relax him when his gaze fell on the pile of books lying open on the table. As the content of several images on the pages became impressed on his brain he straightened slightly and bit back an exclamation.

Al, ever vigilant when visiting his friend in the past, noticed the change in Sam's demeanor. "What's wrong, Sam?" He moved behind Sam's chair to see what had caught his attention. "Holy crow!" he announced, snatching his unlit cigar out of his mouth. "What the hell are these people into?"

Sam shivered in unspoken agreement. The books varied widely in size, shape, age and language but there was one constant: every illustration told its own little horror story.

"So, Giles," Buffy said, as the four young people regarded him with mild interest and no visible reaction to the panoply of the macabre scattered across the tabletop. "What should we concentrate on next?"

"Uh, maybe we should just pick up where we left off last time?" Sam offered. They all shrugged and picked up books, settling into their chairs to begin reading. Just as Sam was about to move away from the table to attempt a private conversation with Al, the annoying chirp-warble of Al's hand-link cut through the silence.

Al squinted at the tiny screen and tapped the display a few times. Finally, he looked up. "Ziggy says this Giles guy is talking to Verbena without getting physical." Al glanced back to the table for a moment before fixing Sam with a serious look. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he reassured his friend.

Sam inclined his head in a slight nod of acknowledgment before heaving a deep sigh and lifting a book with the least offensive picture he could find. The sound of the Imaging Chamber door sliding shut behind him only deepened his gloom.

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Monday March 19th, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

Giles remained standing near the table in the center of the room, silently considering the woman, who had also maintained her position near the doorway. The door slid shut and Giles was relieved that one factor among an array of problems had been removed, at least temporarily: the armed guard he had seen now had no line of fire into the room.

"I don't know anyone named Maggie Walsh," Dr. Beeks informed him. "And I'm pretty much the original article as far as my position here," she added with a friendly smile.

"And where would 'here' be?" Giles asked, in a tone that suggested he didn't really expect an answer and might not believe her if she supplied one.

"That's a little complicated. Al usually provides the explanation for our visitors but you weren't in a particularly receptive frame of mind when he approached you," she replied.

"'Visitors'?" Giles seized upon the plural. "You have others here? If you've harmed her... them," he began in warning as he took several steps to come round the table.

Verbena Beeks took a step back toward the door, which had opened to admit Al. They collided in the doorway as she was moving backwards and Al had been concentrating on his hand-link display.

"Whoa, Doc," Al warned, grasping her by the elbows so she wouldn't fall - and possibly take him with her. "What's going on? I thought he had calmed down," Al complained seeing that, although Giles had halted a foot or so past the edge of the table, he had a dangerous gleam in his eyes, his fists were clenched and he was breathing heavily.

"I told him you usually explain things to our visitors. He assumed we have one or more of his friends here," Verbena explained.

"Oh, okay," Al said with some relief. He swept one hand toward the open doorway, encouraging the psychiatrist to leave. "I'll take it from here."

Dr. Beeks shifted her gaze to the irate visitor and back to Al, her doubt that this was a good idea clear on her face.

Al smiled. "We'll be fine, sweet cheeks." He cocked his head swiftly at the door. "Go on, scram." The woman gave him a brief nod and fleeting smile and left the room. As the door slid shut behind her, Al turned fully toward the center of the room and approached Rupert Giles.

"Who else did you bring here? Are they all right? Let me talk to them!" Giles demanded.

"Calm down, fella," Al advised, halting a few feet short of the seething man. "All your friends are right where they belong. When Verbena said 'visitors' she meant we have had more than one visitor but only one at a time. This time it's you."

"Why do you continue to refer to me as a visitor when, clearly, I'm your prisoner?" Giles inquired.

Al sighed. "I'm sorry, Giles - you go by Giles, right?"

Giles, whose eyes had widened at being called by name, recovered sufficiently to give a slight nod of confirmation.

"Well, Giles," Al continued, motioning toward the low table and seating himself once Giles had, grudgingly, perched at the other end. "I'm sorry we have to keep you here, but it's really for your own good. I can't tell you everything but I can give you some information." When Giles opened his mouth to speak, Al held up a hand. "As I said, you're not the first visitor we've had and you'll pardon me if I anticipate a few of your more burning questions - it'll save us time, believe me."

When Giles subsided and disposed himself to listen, Al nodded at him approvingly and went on.

"First, we are not a part of or even associated with," Al glanced down at his hand-link and frowned. "The Initiative?" he snorted. "Must be Army. Anyway," he went on, looking back up at Giles. "We are not them, whoever they are. We didn't bring you here deliberately and we're only keeping you here for your own protection. You'll go right back where you belong, probably within a week - give or take a few days."

"If you are, as you say, benevolent," Giles interrupted. "Let me go now."

"I can't do that, Giles," Al raised a hand once more to stave off another outburst. "Meaning we really **can't**, not that we don't want to. You'll go back, but we can't exactly control when."

Al proceeded to tell Giles about the Project: how Sam had believed he would be able to observe history; how they had been dismayed when it turned out he had actually traveled back in time; how they had discovered that, by changing history, Sam could Leap from life to life; and their mutual notion that a Higher Power had taken over the Project in order to right past wrongs.

"So it seems someone up there," Al concluded. "Has decided that something needs to be fixed in your life, or the life of someone close to you - so Sam Leaped into your persona. The sooner we figure out what that something is, the sooner you go back to your new, improved life." He gave Giles his most winning, 'trust-me-I'm-on-your-side' smile.

"That's preposterous," Giles told him.

Al sighed. "Okay, you're not on board yet. How much do you know about quantum physics? I can try to convince you with science."

"It isn't the possibility of the science ultimately becoming available, given sufficient time, resources and properly capable and educated minds being applied to the problem that I find difficult to accept," Giles corrected him. "If you were telling me the truth you wouldn't have told me **any** of this. Or if you did you wouldn't have any intention of sending me back to the past with this sort of knowledge."

"You won't remember anything that happens here," Al countered. "It's part of the Leap effect. Or the Higher Power. Whatever, you won't remember."

Giles considered the calm, sympathetic look the smaller man was giving him. After a long silence he sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't really matter whether or not I believe you. I won't tell you anything."

"All I'm talking about is making this quicker and easier on you. This is the future, man. We have some pretty serious computer power here and, if necessary, we can research you 'til we figure out what needs to be fixed." The odd combination of sorrow and humor in the man's eyes gave Al pause.

"I sincerely doubt that," Giles intoned, dropping his head and staring at his hands.

"You're worried about her for some reason, aren't you," Al guessed. "Buffy, I mean."

Giles head shot up and he pinned Al with a smoldering glare but he didn't speak.

"I was listening with one ear when I came in. You said 'If you've harmed her' then you substituted 'them'. Nice try, but I caught it. What's so damned secret about your life, huh? Honest to God, we're only trying to help."

The two men stared at one another for a long time and Al was about to give up and leave when Giles spoke.

"Put yourself in my shoes," Giles said softly but firmly. "I'm you and your friend Sam is Buffy. He's facing the most dangerous situation of his life and I'm holding you prisoner and incommunicado but say I'm just trying to help. All you have to do is tell me everything you know - who the two of you are, what you do, **everything**. What do you do?"

Giles met the smaller man's eyes with a steady gaze. While Al had been explaining the Project to him Giles had recognized, in the way Al talked about Sam, that they shared a level of devotion and commitment to each other and to something larger than themselves, just as he and Buffy did. Giles watched as Al considered his question. Finally, he saw understanding and resignation register in Al's eyes.

"So, you begin to appreciate my position," Giles concluded.

"Yeah, I'm afraid I do," Al admitted. "But that doesn't help them or us, does it?"

"No," Giles agreed, with sincere regret. "I don't suppose it does."

End Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam tried to keep his mind on the book he had chosen but it was simply too gruesome. He rose from his chair and began to peruse the contents of nearby shelves, pretending to be deep in thought. If he wasn't prepared to learn anything from Giles' preferred reading material Sam thought he might be able to glean more useful information from his surroundings. A couple of his new young acquaintances glanced up momentarily but returned to their books almost at once, so Sam wandered toward more distant shelves and displays while staying within earshot of any conversation which might spring up among his companions.

After fifteen or twenty minutes his state of alarm had steadily grown as he collected more clues about his situation.

The shelves were packed with charms, statues, idols and other miscellaneous bric-a-brac with ominous descriptions such as 'Star of Revenge' and 'Curse Talisman'. There were jars, boxes and bottles containing the body parts of a wide range of animals; monkey brains, amphibian eyes, lizard tongues and many, many others. Even the most innocuous books he could find were filled with magic spells, descriptions of mystical creatures, denizens of strange and frightening dimensions or planes of existence or people who had wielded or been destroyed by magic.

If these revelations weren't enough to encourage him to beat a hasty retreat, the topics bandied about the table had the potential to push him over the edge.

Willow, whose cheerful, bubbly personality suggested a girl who might only recently have given up playing with Barbies, dredged up spell after spell over which she conferred with the seemingly wholesome Tara. They debated the prospective effectiveness of dismemberment, disemboweling and immolation spells, among a disturbing array of others, for their ability to kill or incapacitate the largest number of minions in the shortest amount of time.

The bright, confident Buffy chimed in to say that carnage was her specialty and they should concentrate on something else to insure maximum team efficacy.

Xander expounded endlessly on his hope that the missing Anya would remember to bring a good supply of jelly doughnuts with her, in addition to the promised dinner, when she returned.

It was a gut-wrenching experience.

The sound of the Imaging Room door opening and the sight of Al stepping into view prompted Sam to send a silent thank you skyward. He moved purposefully toward the door to the shop's restroom, trusting Al to follow.

Instead of walking behind his friend, Al used his hand-link to instantaneously appear in the small room. The moment he popped in, Sam let out a strangled gasp.

"Don't ever, ever do that again, Al. At least on this Leap," Sam admonished him.

"Little jumpy are we, pal?" Al observed. "What could that pack of post-pubescent cuties have done to get you in such a state?"

"Let me enlighten you," the normally even-tempered man replied in a grim tone.

Sam filled Al in on all that he had seen and heard while Al had been gone. Al divided his attention between Sam's report and the data that kept popping up on his hand-link screen, courtesy of Ziggy. When he had finished his recitation, Sam awaited Al's reaction with growing impatience. "Well?" Sam finally demanded. "Still think I'm overreacting?"

Al glanced up from the hand-link and pulled his cigar out of his mouth. "I agree it's a little strange."

"A 'little strange'!" Sam objected. "It's... it's... well, I don't know what it is, exactly, but it's more than a 'little strange'. I think this guy Giles might have lured these kids into some kind of twisted, over-the-top Dungeons & Dragons sort of role-playing thing. Maybe I'm here to break whatever hold he has over them."

"I dunno, Sam," Al replied, shaking his head. "He seems like a good guy to me. Not a sign of being a depraved whacko that I can see."

"Did you get some information out of him this time?" Sam asked.

"Not much and nothing intentional, but lookee here what Ziggy came up with," Al responded, turning the hand-link toward his friend.

While Sam examined the small device, Al told him how Giles' slip during his confrontation with Dr. Beeks had set Ziggy on the trail of The Initiative.

"It seems this isn't the first time our Mr. Giles has fallen afoul of a secret government project. These Initiative guys, according to their mission statement, were trying to find ways to either neutralize HSTs or use them for military purposes."

Sam glanced up at Al. "What's an HST?"

Al grinned. "You know how we military folk love our acronyms. HST stands for Hostile Sub-Terrestrial."

Sam's expression made it obvious that explanation hadn't quite answered his question.

"Demons, Sam," Al informed him. "They were catching and experimenting on demons."

Sam and Al regarded each other closely for a few moments - Sam in continued confusion and Al in all seriousness. Finally, Sam blinked.

"Come on, Al," he reproved his friend. "Stop fooling around. This is serious. Those kids could be in real danger."

"I'm right there with you, Sam," Al agreed. "But I think it's even more serious than either one of us realizes at the moment. Look at this."

Al punched a button on the hand-link and turned the display toward Sam again. A short loop of video played over and over on the small screen. "This was attached to a report that described the end of the project. It seems the HSTs got loose and killed and maimed to their heart's content. According to the report, the human casualties might have been 100% if it hadn't been for some 'civilian insurgents'."

Sam gasped in recognition as he watched the video repeat. "That's Giles. And Xander. They're helping soldiers into an elevator shaft."

Al nodded and pointed the bitten end of his cigar at the screen. "And there's the blonde and the little redhead, right there."

"Buffy and Willow," Sam intoned softly in wonder. "When does this happen, Al? Is it soon? Has Ziggy figured out how I can stop it?"

Al shoved the hand-link into his pocket and heaved a deep sigh. "That happened almost a year ago, your time. That's not what you're here to fix."

Sam goggled at him. "It's not? But then... then what **am** I supposed to keep from happening?"

Al's expression was grim. "Something worse?" he suggested.

As the two men considered what 'something worse' might entail, the distant jangling of the shop's bell sounded in the silence.

"Hey, Giles," came Buffy's shout, muffled as it was by the intervening distance and the closed restroom door. "Did you fall in? Food's here. You'd better get out here before Xander eats it all."

Sam turned, washed and dried his hands then reached past Al's image to open the door. Al followed and came up beside Sam as they rounded the bookcase that stood between the room they had exited and the area where he had left the young people. His companions were dishing generous portions of Chinese food onto paper plates and Sam noted the addition of a woman of about the same age as the others and a young teen with long, straight brown hair.

"Yowza!" Al pronounced, with a tinge of envy. "I like the male-female ratio this guy maintains around him."

"Nothing to fear, G-man," Xander assured Sam. "My darling Anya has provided copious amounts of food of the Asian persuasion and Dawn says the doughnuts are all jellies."

Sam gave Xander a nod and ignored Al as he approached the table. The new woman, Anya presumably, looked up.

"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" she asked in a sharp tone. "We value your patronage but the store is closed right now."

Sam stopped short and stared at the woman, unsure whether she didn't know Giles or could somehow sense he was not the person who should have been standing there.

The rest of the audience swung their eyes first toward Sam then back to Anya.

"Ahn," Xander said in a patient voice that also carried a hint of subtle warning. "Remember the talk we had about playing funny little tricks on the boss? Sometimes not a very good idea."

"That's not my boss. Giles is my boss and that isn't Giles. Neither is he," Anya insisted, pointing at Al.

"Uh oh, Sam," Al groaned. "I think she can see me."

"Of course I can see you. You're standing right there in front of me. So he's Sam. Who are you? And for that matter, who is Sam?" Anya added.

"Um, Anya," Sam said in as calm a manner as he could muster. "May I speak to you in private for a moment?" He turned sideways and indicated a door toward the back of the shop which he assumed led to a storage area of some kind. "It's really **very** important," he added when she hesitated.

"All right," she conceded. "But keep in mind that I can both defend myself and scream very loudly. If you're up to something my Xander will come and rescue me and you'll be very, very sorry."

"I... I promise I have only the best intentions," Sam assured her as he followed her to the doorway. Behind him, he heard the others resume their conversation.

"What was that all about?" Buffy asked.

"Some sort of retail-related misunderstanding, maybe," Xander guessed. "All I know is she'd better not be playing Sam the door-to-door encyclopedia salesman with Giles or there's gonna be hell to pay."

A chorus of 'ewww's and 'TMI, Xander!'s were cut off when Sam shut the door to the next room behind him and turned to face the latest complication to his situation.

End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ Training Room - The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

Anya flipped on the wall switch as she entered the room and moved away to the left. She stopped short of the side wall by about four feet and turned to face the two men.

They had halted just inside the room after Sam had swung the door shut behind them. They took in the features and accoutrements of the room with twin expressions of astonishment before turning toward each other.

"How much weirder can this get?" Sam inquired.

"You're probably better off not asking that question, buddy," Al recommended.

"Ahem," Anya announced. "We came in here to talk, not to take a tour."

Sam walked toward her as he answered. "Uh, right, sorry," he said. "We were just a little, um, startled by all of this." Before he reached a point within arms' reach of Anya, Al spoke up.

"That's close enough, Sam," he cautioned his friend, pointing at the hanging display of weapons on the wall directly behind the woman.

"Yes, that's close enough," Anya agreed, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at them. "Who are you and why does everyone seem to think you're Giles?"

"My name is Sam and this is Al," Sam replied. "They think I'm Giles because, to them, I look and sound exactly like him."

"Who do they think he is?" Anya asked, jerking her chin at Al.

"They can't see or hear him," Sam explained. "He's not really here. What you're seeing is a holographic projection that's tuned to my brainwaves. A hologram is..."

"I've seen Star Trek," Anya said, waving off more science talk with a gesture. "If he's tuned to your brainwaves why can I see him?"

"I don't know. In our experience, only very young children have been able to see Al," Sam said, pondering the seeming inconsistency in this case.

"And some animals," Al added with a pointed look at Anya.

"Al..." Sam began in warning. He knew Al was prone to overreact when inexplicable complications arose during a Leap but they couldn't afford to antagonize someone who could completely blow Sam's cover. Fortunately, it appeared Anya had no intention of rising to the bait or becoming distracted.

"What did you do with Giles? The real one," she demanded.

"He's here where I am," Al responded. "He's fine and he'll be back with you in a few days."

"I don't believe you," Anya shot back. "He wouldn't leave Buffy without telling her, if he would leave at all; especially now."

"Why especially now?" Al inquired, hoping to glean some information from another source, since Sam's host seemed adamant in his unwillingness to talk.

"I'm asking the questions," Anya reminded him. "And I don't believe Giles would leave voluntarily."

"It wasn't exactly voluntary on our part, either," Sam interjected, concerned with the level of ire Anya was directing at Al. "I can't explain everything because it might not be good for you or your friends to have too much information about what's going on, but we really are here to help you."

Anya considered the gentle, friendly smile the taller man was giving her. "Well," she admitted grudgingly. "You don't **seem** evil, but that doesn't mean you're good; or on our side, either." When neither man responded to this declaration, she focused her attention on Al again. "Giles is okay?"

"He's safe and healthy, if a little upset," Al replied, determined to help Sam win this woman over by being as truthful as possible without sharing information that would compromise the secret of the Project.

"You'd better be careful," Anya informed them. "Giles is getting really fed up with people doing stuff to him unexpectedly and without his permission. He's liable to throttle you or something."

"Thanks for the warning," Al replied sarcastically, tugging slightly at the collar of his shirt at the reminder of his initial encounter with the large Englishman.

"Ooooo!" Anya exclaimed. "Did he thrash you? Darn, I wish I could have seen that. Giles is good-looking all the time but he's really sexy when he gets all cranky and menacing."

"We did have a little misunderstanding, at first, but I talked to him a few minutes ago and he knows we don't mean any harm," Al said, before turning back to Sam. "How come she can see us?"

Before Sam could answer, Anya spoke up. "Probably because I'm a demon. Well, ex-demon actually," she said brightly. "We're not as limited in our perceptions as humans are. I'm mortal now but I was a very effective vengeance demon for more than a millennium."

Sam simply goggled at her until he caught a movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to see Al slowly rotating an index finger near his temple.

"Yeah," Al said, continuing to make the non-verbal signal. "That explains it."

"I am not demented," Anya insisted harshly, taking a step towards Al. "And I'm beginning to find you annoying." She raked her gaze over him with careful scrutiny. "Now that I think about it, you look familiar. Have you ever scorned a woman?" she demanded.

Sam nearly choked trying to suppress a laugh.

"I... I... may have moved on sooner than someone might have wanted, but..." Al began in a halting defense.

"You **have**!" Anya crowed in triumph. "I thought so. I see I made you short." She considered his outfit with a sneer. "And color-blind. That was some pretty effective vengeance I wreaked upon your head. I'll bet you're the target of constant ridicule now. Serves you right."

"Hey, missy! I'll have you know this is the height of fashion..."

"Al. Anya," Sam groaned. "Please, this isn't getting us anywhere." The verbal combatants subsided but shot a couple of glares at each other before completely turning their attention back to Sam. "I know this is a difficult situation for you, Anya," Sam went on. "But we could really use your help."

"What is it you want me to do, exactly," Anya asked, warily.

Sam, sensing it wouldn't do to push too hard too soon tempered the request he had been planning. "For now, just don't tell anyone that I'm not Giles or anything about Al. I mean, think about it; they probably wouldn't believe you anyway."

"I think you'd be surprised at what they're likely to believe," Anya countered. "But I guess I can do that for a** little** while; at least until I can tell whether or not you're evil for sure."

"Thank you," Sam said with a smile.

"Why did you come here at all?" Anya inquired.

"Sam helps people," Al volunteered. "Either the person he's temporarily replacing or someone close to them. Sometimes more than one person."

"You could be of more assistance to us, and your friends, if you'd try and think what might need to be fixed here," Sam added.

"Like what?" Anya asked.

Before Sam could answer, there was a knock on the door and it was opened a crack. Xander stuck his head in and looked around.

"Hey guys," he greeted them. "Is everything okay? The food's getting cold."

"We'll be there in a minute, Xander," Anya assured him.

"Okay," he replied and disappeared.

The trio began to move slowly toward the door Xander had closed behind him.

"Like what?" Anya repeated.

"Oh, like protecting someone from danger or finding out something important that they need to know but wouldn't find out about without Sam's help," Al told her. "Sometimes he helps people get out of a relationship they shouldn't be in or gives them a push into a relationship that will be better for them and the other person."

"Can you think of anything similar that might need to be fixed here?" Sam asked as Anya reached for the doorknob.

Anya paused and turned, a thoughtful expression mixed with a little doubt on her face. "How long did you say you're going to be here?" she inquired.

End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

As he settled into his chair at the table, Sam was relieved to see that the ghastly literature had been put aside and that his arrival had not been delayed further as the massive amount of food disappeared very rapidly. Sam was reaching for the last portion of cashew chicken when Buffy spoke up and distracted him, giving Xander the opportunity to scoop up the carton and dump a third helping on his plate.

"Giles, are you sure you want to patrol with me tonight? You're not really dressed for it," Buffy observed.

Sam, who had redirected his attention toward the single remaining egg roll, let his hand hang in mid-air as the content of Buffy's question sank in. "Patrol?" he queried.

Anya intervened before his ignorance could be exposed. "Giles left some clothes here the other day when we were planning to do inventory in the basement."

Sam exhaled in relief and sent Anya a smile of thanks, which she acknowledged with a brief nod. He lowered his hand toward its target, only to encounter an empty plate. Sam turned to see Dawn munching on an egg roll with no visible remorse. He sighed and rose from his seat. "I suppose I should get changed, then."

"On a shelf behind the counter," Anya whispered to Sam, under cover of the general conversation around the table and while ostensibly focused on collecting the used paper plates and containers.

Sam dutifully retrieved jeans, a denim shirt and a pair of cross-trainers from behind the counter and listened to the arrangements the others were making for the evening as he moved toward the restroom. Willow and Tara were planning to head home and, as he shut the door behind him, Sam overheard Buffy asking Xander and Anya to take Dawn home and stay with her until she returned from patrol.

As he pulled off his tie, Sam addressed Al, who had followed along. "What's taking Ziggy so long? She usually comes up with something before now."

"This Leap just keeps getting stranger and stranger, Sam," Al replied, poking the buttons on his hand-link despondently. "You're not gonna believe this. Ziggy says the whole town is now at the bottom of a really deep crater. The local newspaper archives and city government records are all gone so she doesn't have access to the stuff she usually uses to find out what happens to the person you replaced."

Sam stared, wide-eyed, at Al. "I'm here to prevent an earthquake?" he queried, aghast. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Al shook his head in grim amusement. "Nope, no record of an earthquake; and the crater thing doesn't happen for about two years, so I don't think you'll need to figure out how to stop that."

Sam finished buttoning and tucking in his shirt. "What good will it do for me to fix something now if they're all going to die in a huge catastrophe in just two years?" he wondered aloud, sadly.

"Oddly enough," Al continued. "Very few people seem to have died when, well, whatever it was happened. Ziggy has been going over county, state and national reports about Sunnydale and it appears there was a mass exodus in the week or so leading up to the town's destruction."

Al slapped the hand-link and squinted at the screen before sliding it into his pocket and producing a cigar. "She's come up with some interesting stuff but nothing about anyone you've met so far except for a lot of international travel by our friend Rupert Giles, both before and after the town goes **splat**, so at least he survived," Al concluded with some relief as he lit his cigar. He blew out a mouthful of smoke and focused on Sam again. "We're going to need these people's last names if we expect Ziggy to track down any more details."

"Maybe we can convince Anya to tell us that, at least," Sam suggested hopefully as he finished tying his shoelaces. He rose and settled his gaze on his friend. "In the meantime, I have to go on 'patrol'."

The group left the Magic Box together. Anya locked the door behind them and then followed Xander, Dawn, Willow and Tara to a car parked a short distance away. Buffy and Sam watched the car roll down the street until it left their sight after rounding a corner.

Sam turned to find Buffy looking at him with a slight smile and fondness in her eyes.

"It's been a while since just the two of us patrolled together, Watcher-mine," she said, her smile widening. "And it's nice to be able to call you that again, too. What do you think, Restfield?"

"Fine," Sam replied, not knowing what else to say. He fingered the wooden stake Buffy had given him and he had thrust into the waistband of his jeans before they had left the shop. When he had returned from changing his clothes, Buffy had set aside the short sword she had been handling and given him the stake instead. Sam was still puzzling over her comment that, without his jacket, the sword would be too conspicuous, even for Sunnydale.

As they set off down the street, Sam concentrated on appearing to stay abreast of Buffy while actually lagging a split second behind. It was a skill he had developed to an impressive degree, and by necessity, since he often needed to walk with someone toward a location that would have been familiar to the person he had replaced but was completely unknown to him. Due to his absorption in the delicate subterfuge, Al became aware of their destination before Sam.

"Aw, criminey," Al exclaimed. "You've **gotta** be kidding me."

Sam halted and glanced up to see an arch curving over the path onto which they had turned. The illumination of the nearly full moon allowed the words 'Restfield Cemetery' to show in clear relief amidst the decorative ironwork.

Buffy, who had paused in reaction to Sam's lack of movement, looked at him quizzically. "Something wrong? Do you think we should go to Shady Rest instead?"

Sam gulped and struggled to appear composed. "No, no. This is... fine. I guess," he replied, without conviction, as he returned to her side. He managed a weak smile and an 'after you' gesture toward the entrance.

Buffy, apparently satisfied, turned and walked along with Sam under the arch.

Al followed reluctantly behind. "I really, **really** want this Leap to be over now, okay?" he groused. "Maybe Sam can go save someone from a bad haircut or a foolish decision about a new car. That would be a good thing, right?"

Al continued his diatribe as he trailed along behind Buffy and Sam, who were walking among the graves in companionable silence. After about ten more minutes of non-stop complaining, Sam felt his nerves reaching the breaking point. As he began pondering a way to, unobtrusively, tell his friend to shut up there was a rustling in the bushes off to their left.

"Look out, Giles," Buffy warned, running toward a figure that had emerged from the foliage. Sam and Al stepped back, shocked by the strange deformity of the face of what they otherwise might have thought to be a man. Their attention was, shortly thereafter, diverted to the elegant flow of movement interspersed with apparently heavy blows that Buffy was demonstrating on her hapless foe.

"Wow, take a look at that, will ya?" Al breathed, as Buffy easily dodged three consecutive roundhouse punches by her opponent. "She's really something."

Sam nodded wordlessly, noticing that, while the creature became increasingly clumsy, confused and aggravated, Buffy remained composed and seemed almost bored with the action. The thing roared and attempted a headlong rush at her, which Buffy side-stepped. As the much taller and heavier figure went by, she grasped him by the arm and, seemingly without effort, flipped him onto his back on the ground. Buffy followed through by plunging her stake, which had appeared in her hand as if by magic, squarely into the chest of the prone body.

Sam's gasp of alarm was cut short when the body of the man dissolved with a distinct 'whoosh'. Sam stared in disbelief as Buffy rose and blithely brushed dust and grass clippings from her clothing. As she approached Sam, her smile disappeared and her expression became concerned.

"What's wrong, Giles? Was my form bad? Did you think I toyed with him too long? I know you're all for 'plunge and move on' but a girl's gotta work off steam sometimes." She stopped right in front of Sam and looked up curiously into his face.

Sam blinked. He was dimly aware of Al prattling on behind him, saying "Did you see that? Sam! Did you see that?" over and over, but he forced himself to focus on Buffy, noticing the frown of consternation she wore.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a worried tone.

"Um, yes," Sam managed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying to think of something convincing to explain what was, apparently, an uncharacteristic reaction on his part to what he had just witnessed. As he became aware of his involuntary, nervous movement an idea came to him. "It's just that... I mean I have to..." he shifted his weight again while attempting to guess how Giles would explain the situation.

Buffy's powers of observation saved him. "Oh," she said, taking a step back, her frown giving way to a slightly embarrassed little smile. "You have to 'spend a penny' as you put it?" she inquired, a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes," Sam agreed with relief. "That's it." He took a step away from her then stopped, realizing he didn't know if there were any public restrooms in a cemetery; and, if there were, where the ones in **this** cemetery might be located.

Buffy misinterpreted his hesitation. "C'mon, Giles," she said, brightly. "Lighten up. It's not the first time you've had too much tea before we went on patrol. You know I won't peek. You go over there," she said, pointing to a clump of trees a few yards away. "And you can find me over there when you're finished," she added waving toward a row of crypts that stood in the opposite direction. She moved off determinedly toward the structures after tossing him a final cheeky grin.

Sam shuffled slowly behind the clump of trees.

"Sam!" Al demanded loudly. "Did you see that? Tell me I'm not hallucinating."

"You're not hallucinating," Sam replied. "I saw it too."

"That was a vampire," Al announced. "A real, live, er... unlive... undead, you know, **vampire**."

Sam mulled Al's opinion over, considering alternate possibilities. "Well, it **appeared** to be a vampire," he said, hesitantly.

"Oh, come **on**, Sam. You saw that thing; the weird face, the yellow eyes, the fangs! And it exploded into dust when she staked it through the heart! Don't try the 'there must be a rational, scientific explanation' thing with me after **that**!" Al exclaimed in exasperation. "Told you vampires were real," he reminded Sam smugly.

Sam seemed uncertain and stood silently watching his friend rock exultantly back and forth from heel to toe, a broad, satisfied smile on his face. "Maybe," Sam allowed. "Just give me a minute and we'll talk some more while we go find Buffy." Sam turned toward the tree and reached for his fly.

"What are you doing?" Al inquired.

Sam sighed deeply. "Sometimes it's not just an excuse to talk to you privately, Al. Sometimes I actually need to **go**," he explained.

"Oh, sorry pal," Al apologized. "Don't mind me. I'll just go over here..."

Just as Sam turned back toward the tree and Al turned the other way, they both heard the crackling of something moving in the bushes nearby. The men leaped away from the shrubbery, expecting another attack. Their hearts started beating again and they let out sighs of relief when a small dog wiggled his way into view.

"Holy Christ," Al wheezed, his hand pressed against his chest. "Don't do that ya mangy little varmint. You could give someone a heart attack."

The dog, a black and tan Chihuahua, barked sharply and wagged his tail; pleased that he had frightened two huge interlopers in his domain. He stayed some distance away but sniffed in Sam's direction and, after a moment, gave a little whine and a snort. He turned his head toward Al and sniffed, then shook his head. He sniffed again, then stiffened slightly, growled deep in his throat and shied away out of sight beyond the trees.

"I guess he recognizes Giles and is upset that he couldn't smell you," Sam said to Al, amused by the tiny dog's performance.

"Tough," Al replied. "He scared ten years off my life jumping out of the bushes like that."

Sam moved back toward the tree and Al remained where he was. Sam had just undone his fly and let himself relax enough to let go when a voice sounded behind him.

"Oi, Watcher. Don't ya have no respect for other folks' front gardens?"

Sam whipped around in fright, sending a stream of urine across the lower legs of the jeans of the latest prowler.

"Bloody hell!" the intruder growled. "Watch yourself, man..."

Sam stuttered over an apology while tucking himself away but whatever he was about to say was cut off when the bleach-blond man scowled at him and took a menacing step forward.

"I thought I heard Buffy's voice but you're not Giles, for all that you're wearin' his clothes. What are you playing at, then?" he challenged. "And what the **hell** is that," he added pointing at Al, who had approached at the sound of a new voice.

"Is **everyone** gonna be able to see me on this Leap?" Al groaned.

"I... we..." Sam began in halting explanation, trailing off as the dog that had scared them earlier trotted back toward them. Evidently put out by other males marking objects in his territory, he lifted his leg and put his mark over the one Sam had just placed on the other man's pants.

"Leave off, ya little bugger," the blond snarled, swinging a booted foot in the direction of the small animal.

"Hey!" Sam objected, on behalf of the dog - who had anticipated the retaliatory attack and danced out of reach.

"Sam! Vampire!" Al yelped, pointing at the stranger, who was clutching his head in pain and whose face had morphed into a mask of horror, his fangs clearly visible as he grimaced in agony.

Sam fumbled for his stake and barely managed to pull it free of his clothing as the vampire struggled through a final flare of pain. He lifted his head to see Sam's fist, holding the stake, hurtle toward his chest.

"Wha..." was all he managed to say before Sam planted the stake deep in his heart, stepped back and watched as the vampire burst into a cloud of ash that settled slowly onto the grass.

Sam and Al stared down at the remains of the vampire, stunned into silence and immobility. The little dog appeared once more. They watched as he circled the spot, lifted his leg and christened the area with his scent. After scraping his back paws through the untouched grass beyond the edge of the dusty remnants of the creature, the dog gave a dismissive snort and trotted off into the darkness.

"Holy crap, Sam," Al intoned, looking up at his friend. "You killed a vampire!"

End Part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ Restfield Cemetery ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam shifted and rubbed his face with one hand, clearly uneasy and still staring at the remains of the vampire. "I don't suppose that's what I was here to do and now I'm going to Leap?" he said, with very little hope evident in his voice.

Al pulled his hand-link out of his pocket and punched a few buttons, then looked back up. "No, I guess not. No sign of you being ready to Leap."

Sam sighed and poked the toe of his shoe into the near side of the pile of dust. "Do you see my stake?" he asked Al.

Al scrutinized the lighter area of grass. "Nope. Maybe you're supposed to keep hold of it and pull it out after you stab them. I think that's what Buffy did. Besides, would you still want it after, you know?" he concluded waving at the pattern of dampness visible in the otherwise dry circle of debris.

"I guess not," Sam agreed, "but since I'm unarmed now I should probably go find Buffy."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want you roaming around out here in the bad, old dark without protection, would we?" Al responded with a wide grin.

"Uh huh," Sam replied sarcastically. "You were scared to even come into the cemetery. And that was **before** we knew about the vampires. And you're not really here, either."

Both men sobered, reminded of the fact that Sam was in very real danger as long as he was here. Their faces lightened at the sound that carried to them on the night breeze.

"Hey, Giles; are you okay?"

"Over here, Buffy," Sam called.

"Are you decent?" Buffy asked, her voice coming from just beyond the stand of trees.

"Yes," Sam replied, double checking quickly to make sure he had completely closed his fly mere seconds before Buffy sauntered into view.

"What's going on, Giles? I was getting worried..." she let her question trail off as her eyes, having roamed Giles' figure looking for damage, settled on the patch of dust in the grass. Her gaze flicked from there, back to Sam and on to the tree, where a trickle of liquid was still visible in a vertical line down the rough bark. She choked off what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle and turned back to Sam. "A vampire? While you were..." her eyes danced and she pressed one hand firmly over her mouth. It was no use. A huge guffaw escaped her and she bent over, arms wrapped around her mid-section.

Sam waited impatiently for her to regain her composure, but Buffy continued to howl with laughter. Every time she tried to straighten and become serious, she caught sight of the glower on Sam's face and off she went into a fresh paroxysm of hilarity. For such a pale, delicate beauty she had an incongruous propensity for snorting and choking when she was amused. Finally, despairing of an impending end to what Sam considered an inappropriate reaction to the situation, he spoke up. "It's not funny. I could have been killed," he complained.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Giles," Buffy apologized, gasping for breath. "Oh my God; I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard." She brushed a few tears from her flushed cheeks and smiled at him contritely.

Sam considered the fact that the horror and danger he had witnessed since his arrival seemed unremarkable to her and the thought of what such a life would be like made him suddenly glad he had given her an opportunity to laugh, even if it was at his expense. "Okay, I guess it was a **little** funny," he relented.

"Are you out of your **mind**?" Al barked.

"Those wacky creatures of the night," Buffy said, linking her arm through Sam's. "Some of 'em have no manners at all. What say we go dust a few more?"

"I lost my stake," Sam admitted.

"I've got a spare one," Buffy replied, handing the weapon over, "but carelessness with one's weapons? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Giles," she continued in a mock-serious tone and a horrendous, affected English accent. "I suspect an extra training session is in order."

"Really, Sam," Al interjected, unheard, of course, by Buffy. "Don't you think we should go inside now? Huh? You know, no sense tempting fate. Sam?"

Sam and Buffy continued along through the cemetery, unmindful of Al's suggestions and warnings.

"Fine," the Observer huffed, following along behind the couple. "One of these days you'll wish you'd listened to me. Just wait and see."

Buffy and Sam, with Al still fuming and following along reluctantly, finished their circuit of Restfield without seeing further action. They moved on to another cemetery but, after an hour of slow circling, they had added only one staking to their tally, a newly-risen vampire that Buffy dispatched with very little fuss.

"It's awfully quiet tonight," Buffy observed as she rejoined Sam and they resumed their stroll through the ranks of headstones.

"Quiet!" Al snorted. "She calls **this** quiet; horrible monsters leaping at you out of the dark. I'd like to see what she calls active... on second thought, I take that back," Al finished, shaking his head.

Sam was sufficiently distracted by Al's grumbling that when Buffy stopped short he nearly ran into her. Buffy held up a hand and tilted her head, as though straining to hear something.

"Now what?" Al groused.

Sam turned slightly and laid an index finger over his lips, sending a stern glare at his friend. He turned back in time to see Buffy gesturing for him to stay where he was and indicating that she was going to circle their position. Sam nodded and Buffy gave him a fleeting smile before moving quietly out of sight.

Al moved up next to Sam. "I didn't hear anything, did you?" Al asked.

"No," Sam hissed, keeping his voice down so that Buffy, if she were close enough, wouldn't hear him talking, apparently to himself. "But she didn't have the disadvantage of having to listen to you stomping along behind us and babbling non-stop."

"Sor-**ry**!" Al shot back. "This whole situation is just so... creepy." He pulled his hand-link, which had been unusually silent, from his pocket. He smacked it, then shook it, then thrust it back in his pocket with a scowl and a grunt. "I wish Ziggy had enough information to provide us with some useful advice."

"So do I..." Sam whispered and then stopped when he caught sight of Buffy reemerging from the darkness. "What was it?" he asked her.

"More like who," Buffy replied sourly as she moved closer to him. She looked up into Sam's face, her brow creased in thought. "I need to talk to you about something," she said after a moment's consideration. "Let's go over to the park across the street. The playground has a lot of open space around it so we can be sure no one's lurking around close enough to hear us talking."

"We could go inside," Sam suggested.

"Amen to that," Al concurred, nodding enthusiastically.

Buffy shook her head. "That's kinda what I want to talk to you about."

Sam wasn't sure what to make of that statement, so he simply agreed with her request. When they reached a bench near the playground, Buffy stopped and turned in a complete circle. Sam copied her behavior, noting that the meager light provided by scattered lampposts allowed them to see that there was no one nearby in the wide, open area surrounding them.

"Have a seat," Buffy offered. As Sam complied, Buffy turned to face him, still standing. "I'll watch that way and you let me know if you see anything moving back there," she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

"Jeez, she's not at **all** paranoid," Al said, pacing around the bench and peering into the darkness. "But I guess it won't hurt for me to keep an eye peeled, too."

"There was someone following us? In the cemetery?" Sam asked Buffy, bringing her back to the topic she had alluded to before their change in scenery.

"Yeah, one of those Knights of Byzantium. He took off when he realized I'd spotted him. I can't believe how stealthy those guys are - considering the amount of metal they wear," she added ruefully, blowing out a frustrated breath.

The beeping sound of Al punching hand-link buttons startled Sam slightly before he forced himself to relax, concluding that Al was probably querying Ziggy for any information she might have about the Knights of Byzantium.

"If we're being watched, shouldn't we go inside?" Sam repeated.

"Soon," Buffy agreed. "But I've been thinking. If Xander hadn't been at Spike's place when he was nabbed we might never have known Glory took him. Maybe it would be a good idea if none of us is alone. You know, within reason and especially at night when it's easier for demon minions and guys in armor to sneak around without attracting attention."

"That sounds reasonable," Sam responded, mentally putting aside the comments about demons and armor-clad stalkers.

"Really?" Buffy inquired, her face brightening in apparent relief. "I thought I was gonna have a serious argument on my hands when I suggested you move in with me... us. At... at least until we settle this Glory business," she continued, a little more hesitantly.

"Move in with..." Sam began.

"Now **this** is getting interesting," Al chimed in, moving closer to them.

"You're the only one who lives alone. Besides Spike, that is; and I'm **so** not asking him to move in - even if he did keep our secret when Glory tortured him," Buffy explained.

"Tortured?" Al squeaked.

"Buffy..." Sam said, worried that if he ended up sharing quarters with Buffy he wouldn't be able to search Giles' apartment for clues and that his 'alone time' with Al would be severely curtailed.

"Giles, just listen for a minute, okay?" Buffy cajoled him. "It's not just that I'm worried about Glory's minions hauling you off in the middle of the night and us not knowing until she's been beating on you for hours - although I **am** worried about that."

"So am I, now," Al moaned. "Thanks, girlie."

Buffy took a close look around them and then sat down next to Sam. She shifted sideways to keep the area behind the bench in her peripheral vision and placed a hand over one of Sam's.

"I haven't exactly been effective in stopping Glory and the knight guy said they'd come back in force. I'm worried about what would happen if Glory comes after Dawn. Or what the Knights might do if they find out she's the Key," Buffy confided, in a whisper. "Even if I can't stop them cold, I should be able to slow them down long enough for you to help Dawn get away and hide her."

"If Glory or the Knights attack your home you want me to escape and run away with Dawn, leaving you to fight the intruders off," Sam repeated, attempting to comprehend the increasingly surreal conversation.

Buffy nodded. "Please, Giles," she pleaded with him, vehemently. "You're the only one I can trust to do this. Next to me, you're the best fighter and you're the smartest one of us. If anyone can figure out what Glory's up to, how we can defeat her or a way to keep Dawn safe it's gonna be you."

Sam glanced over to Al, who merely waggled the hand-link at him and shrugged; indicating he had no information to offer that would tilt the decision either way. Sam met Buffy's eyes again and the hope and trust he saw there made it impossible for him to disappoint her.

"All right, then. I suppose you have a house guest for the, uh, duration," Sam agreed.

Buffy jumped up from her seat and wrapped her arms tightly around Sam's neck. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully into his ear, before releasing him and stepping back.

Sam watched with amusement as she dug the toe of one shoe into the sandy path. Due to the low level of light he couldn't be sure but he thought she might be blushing.

"Thanks, Giles," she repeated softly, before lifting her eyes to meet his once more. "Ready to go home now?"

"As I'll ever be, I suppose," Sam replied, rising to his feet.

Buffy linked her arm through his again and led him toward the park entrance.

Monday March 19th, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

At the sound of the door sliding open, Giles looked up to see Al marching toward him. He rose from his seat on the low table only to receive a hard shove in the center of his chest which dropped him back into a seated position. Al planted his fists on his hips and shouted down into Giles' face.

"Vampires! Vampires are real and you guys run around poking them with little wooden stakes?" he fumed, leaning over the bigger man.

"If you say so," Giles replied, unwilling to confirm or deny anything.

"I do," Al growled back.

Giles silently met Al's angry glare. He couldn't be sure that Al was who and what he said he was and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that these people were allied with Glory or under her control. Finally, the furious man lifted his gaze and stepped back. Giles watched him pace away then turn toward him.

"I really want to plant one square in the middle of your mug, ya know?" Al snarled.

"You could try," Giles countered.

Al shook his head and pulled his hand-link out of his pocket. He began punching buttons. "Magic, Glory, vengeance demons, vampires, minions and the Knights of Byzantium," he listed off, looking back up at Giles. "Just how many ways to die is Sam gonna have to face on this Leap?"

"I would recommend he not tarry long enough to find out," Giles advised, masking his concern at the amount of information they had amassed in such a short period of time. "Let me go. I'm the one who belongs there."

"Yeah, and he belongs here," Al responded. "And nothing would make me happier than to make you switch places; but I wasn't kidding when I said we can't do that."

"Then I don't believe we have anything more to discuss," Giles concluded. "Unless you want to tell me how... how my friends are doing."

Al smiled and Giles knew his hesitation had been noticed.

"Buffy is fine," Al informed him. "She and Sam are on their way to her house so I thought I'd come back and see if you had decided to be reasonable," he snorted. "Fat chance of that, apparently." He returned his attention to the hand-link and punched a few more buttons. "What is the Key and why does Buffy say Dawn is it?" he asked, in a resigned tone of voice that suggested he expected this question to go unanswered as well.

Giles was sure he felt his heart stop beating and he made a valiant attempt to maintain a pretense of indifference. From the look on Al's face, he was fairly certain he hadn't been successful.

"Jesus, fella; take a breath before you pass out," Al said, worriedly. "I know you English have fair complexions but I've seen better color on dead guys."

End Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Wednesday, April 25th, 2001 ~ Summers Residence ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam followed Buffy up the front walk of an attractive, comfortable looking house. He mentally noted the address and hoped Al would return soon. Ziggy would be able to get a last name for Buffy and probably a lot more information with this valuable clue.

Buffy unlocked the door and entered, leaving the door open for Sam. He hesitated in the entryway to close the door and then moved toward the voices he could hear in the next room.

"Hey G-man," Xander greeted him from the couch where he sat with Anya. "Have a good time on patrol?"

"Don't call me that," Sam remembered to say.

"Giles dusted a vamp that interrupted him while he was..."

"Buffy!" Sam interjected.

"Oooo, I sense a juicy story that may have blackmail or at least teasing potential," Xander enthused as he stood up and offered a hand to Anya. "We'll talk later, Buff," he added with a wink.

Sam gave Buffy a beseeching look that she met for a few moments before giving in.

"Okay, okay," she said, lifting her hands in surrender. "Your secret is safe with me. Sorry, Xand," she said as she escorted them to the door. "Is Dawn asleep?"

"Should be. She said she was tired and went upstairs about an hour ago," Xander replied. "Want a ride back to the Magic Box to get your car?" he asked Sam. When he didn't get a response he tried again. "Hey, Giles; want a ride to your car?"

Sam, who had been trying not to fidget under Anya's silent scrutiny, suddenly realized he was being addressed. "Uh, no, that won't be necessary," he responded, unsure whether or not to broach the subject of his new living arrangements. Buffy saved him from further speculation.

"Giles is going to stay here until we figure out how to deal with Glory," Buffy informed them.

Sam watched Anya's eyes narrow at him before she turned to Buffy. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Sure," Buffy responded with a shrug. "Otherwise I wouldn't have asked him."

"**You** asked **him**?" Anya echoed, suspiciously.

Before Buffy could reply, Xander cut in. "Uh, Anya, kinda not our business; if the Buffster wants Giles to stay over it's her, uh, their decision."

Sam held himself as still as possible, as though it would allow him to escape the notice of the woman who might reveal his actual identity if she saw him as a potential threat to her friend. The frozen tableau continued for an uncomfortable length of time until Xander took charge.

"C'mon, honey. Let's go home," Xander suggested, nervously; guiding Anya out the door with a hand on her lower back. They were halfway down the front walk when Sam overheard him continue the conversation. "How come you've been on the G-man's case all night? And it's not like Buffy brought home a stray demon or a complete stranger. This is Giles we're talkin' about."

To Sam's disappointment, Buffy shut the door before he could hear Anya's reply. He turned hesitantly toward Buffy, wondering what to say about Anya's obvious distrust. Surprisingly, Buffy was smiling.

"Well, that's a relief," she said. "Very un-Anyalike **and** a relief. Feel like a post-patrol snack?" Buffy inquired, turning and walking into the dining room on the opposite side of the entryway.

Sam trailed after her, nonplussed. After passing through the dining room, he caught up with Buffy in the kitchen. He stopped at the center island and watched Buffy lift a tea kettle off the stove and move over to the sink to fill it with water. "Un-Anyalike?" he prompted.

Buffy set the full kettle on the stove and lit the burner. "Well, yes," she responded, opening a cupboard and rooting around among the packages within. "I mean, I was sure she was going to ask us how many orgasms we were planning to give each other."

Startled as he was by this comment, Sam was still sufficiently in control of his thought processes to be grateful that Al was not present at the moment. Unfortunately, the look Buffy gave him after she turned and placed a box of cookies on the table in front of him suggested he hadn't schooled his expression into anything resembling nonchalance.

"Giles, take it easy," Buffy said. "I wasn't... I didn't... You know how Anya is," she finally managed, throwing up her hands dismissively.

"Uh, yes; of course," Sam stuttered, unconvincingly.

"That does it," Buffy stated. "What's **with** you tonight, Giles? You're all jumpy and distracted. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Well..." Sam began, remembering his conclusions when he had considered his host's reflection for the first time.

"I thought so," Buffy cut in. She turned off the burner under the tea kettle. "No caffeine for you, mister. And no sugar, either," she added, snatching up the box of cookies and replacing them in the cupboard. She moved across the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and turned to display a carton of milk. "Warm or cold?" she inquired of him.

"Cold, please," Sam answered, relieved that she was willing to attribute what she considered strange behavior to sleep deprivation.

Buffy poured them each a glass of milk. "Drink up," she suggested. "Then we'll get you settled in."

After finishing their milk and rinsing out the glasses, they went upstairs. Buffy led Sam to the end of the hallway.

"Is it okay if you take my room?" she asked, in a soft voice.

"I don't want to put you out," Sam replied, unsure what she was actually proposing.

"Don't worry about it," Buffy reassured him. "I'll sleep in mo... the master bedroom. Dawn sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and sneaks in there. I don't think it would do either of you any good to wake up in bed together," she explained.

"Right, good thinking," Sam agreed, hurriedly. He entered the room she had indicated and turned in the doorway. "Good night, Buffy," he whispered.

"Night, Giles."

Sam had just shut the bedroom door when a grating noise behind him signaled Al's return.

"Hey Sam, nice digs; but isn't this a little feminine for... whoa, you're gonna **sleep** with her?"

Sam grimaced at the sly smile Al was giving him. "No," he hissed. "Buffy is sleeping in the master bedroom."

"That's a shame," Al remarked. "Doesn't Giles get any perks? And if there's another bedroom how come you're not sleeping in there and letting her keep her room?"

"Never mind that," Sam said as sternly as possible while keeping his voice down. He certainly wasn't going to discuss with Al the reason Buffy gave him for the arrangements. Al would be able to do twenty minutes, at least, on the possibility of Sam waking up with a teen-aged girl in his borrowed bed. He allowed himself another moment of gratitude that Al had been absent earlier when Buffy had made the orgasm comment. "I have the address of the house." He rattled off the street address and watched Al enter it dutifully into the hand-link. "Did you get anything more out of Giles or Ziggy?"

Before Al could reply, a soft knock sounded. Sam opened the door to find Buffy holding a stack of bed linen.

"I, uh, changed the bed yesterday but thought you might want fresh sheets and stuff," she explained.

"Thank you," Sam responded, accepting the proffered bedding.

"I put out some extra towels and a washcloth in the bathroom. They're the manly blue ones, distinguishable from the others by their complete lack of pink and/or floral decoration."

Sam nodded and smiled. "Very considerate of you."

"Well, good night, again," Buffy said.

"Good night, Buffy," Sam replied, closing the door. He placed the pile of pillowcases, sheets, blanket and comforter on the bed and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Sam," Al complained. "Are you completely dense or are you just trying to get a rise out of me?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam was tired, grumpy, unsettled and not at all in the proper frame of mind to be harangued by Al.

"Buffy!" Al shot back, as though that was explanation enough.

"What about her?"

"She wanted you to kiss her good night," Al said, confidently.

"No she didn't," Sam objected.

"Oh yes she did!"

Another knock interrupted the argument. Once again, Buffy stood in the doorway; a curious mix of disappointment and apology in her expression.

"Sorry, I forgot, uh..." she sidled past Sam into the room and walked over to the dresser. She pulled open a drawer, removed a set of pajamas, closed the drawer and gestured toward Sam with the hand which held the garments. "I just needed to... uh, I'll get out of your way now." She crossed the room slowly and hesitated briefly before crossing the threshold and disappearing down the hallway.

Sam shut the door and turned reluctantly toward his friend. Al's scowl of disapproval had deepened.

"Sam, you can't just ignore her like that. It's not polite."

"Oh, and throwing her down on the bed and ravaging her would be the gentlemanly thing to do?" Sam rejoined, with as much sarcasm as he could project in a soft tone.

Al chuckled. "Much as I'd like to see that, it wasn't what I suggested. I know your limits."

Sam pulled off his shirt. "I don't think she wanted me to kiss her, either," he murmured.

"You may be a genius; but who knows more about women, you or me?" Al challenged forcefully. "She gave you her bedroom, says good night, you don't kiss her and she leaves, right?"

"Right," Sam allowed grudgingly as he sat down on the bed to remove his shoes.

"You didn't come across with the lip lock, so she has to think of an excuse to come back and give you another chance. Hence, the linen delivery," Al went on.

"She was being hospitable," Sam argued.

"Which is why she also made a point of mentioning your masculinity. You are so clueless," Al responded, rolling his eyes. "If that's all it was she wouldn't have come back again."

"She just forgot her pajamas," Sam groaned softly, wishing he could believe this conversation would end soon. He removed his socks, rolled them up and stuffed them into the discarded shoes.

"Yeah, like it would have been a disaster for her to sleep in her undies or the buff..." Al trailed off.

Sam looked up to see the rapt expression on his friend's face. "Al!" he hissed.

"Yeah, sorry; I just lost my train of thought there for a second." He ignored Sam's disgruntled snort and went on. "I suppose you didn't notice how slowly she moved, giving you every possible chance to intercept her or how disappointed she was that you still had all your clothes on."

Sam rose and unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans before pulling his t-shirt off over his head. He studiously ignored Al while folding the undergarment and placing it on a chair in the corner. Being ignored rarely quenched Al's spirit and this wasn't one of the times it would be successful.

"Take my advice, pal, and leave the jeans on unless you want Buffy to get a good look at you in your skivvies. She'll be back any second now," Al warned.

"She's not coming back," Sam said, hoping he was projecting more confidence than he felt.

"Yes she is," Al countered. "She still hasn't gotten what she came for and if you know what's good for you, and Giles by the way, you'd better deliver the goods. Women don't usually come right out and ask for what they want. They give a guy clues and hints and if he can't learn to interpret them he's in for a world of hurt."

Sam fingered the closure at the waistband of his jeans while considering Al's words and self-assured expression. "Well," he temporized. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wait a few minutes..."

Al's smile widened significantly in response to the knock on the door.

Sam sighed deeply and reached for the door knob. He swung the door open and watched with trepidation as Buffy's eyes snapped down from his face to his bare chest, then she let her gaze slowly drift down his form. Sam sighed again. Al was insufferable when proved right about **anything**, let alone women.

"Was there something..." Sam began.

"Oh," was Buffy's startled little exclamation as she recovered her wits. "I, uh, I forgot my lotion..."

Sam stepped aside and let her into the room, shooting a glare at Al who was grinning like a maniac and bouncing on his toes in satisfaction.

"I won't say I told you so but if you expect to get any sleep tonight you'd better kiss her," Al said, with a chuckle.

Sam watched Buffy as she lifted the bottle of lotion from the top of her dressing table, turned slowly and headed back toward the doorway. The surreptitious glances she kept sending his way convinced Sam he might as well bow to the inevitable. "Buffy," he said gently.

She stopped and turned fully toward him. "Yes, Giles?"

Sam took a step forward and rested one hand on her shoulder. He brushed his thumb lightly over her skin a few times. She shivered but didn't move away. Sam met her eyes and slowly leaned forward, giving her every opportunity to get away if it turned out Al was wrong in his assessment of the situation. Instead of bolting for the door, Buffy tipped her head back. Sam's lips descended to smoothly cover her mouth. Although he had intended to make the kiss brief, when he felt Buffy lean into his body slightly he let the contact linger until he sensed a rising heat and tension in both their bodies. He momentarily increased the gentle pressure on her lips before lifting his head and stepping back.

Buffy was a sight to behold. Her eyes were wide open and shining and a blush had traveled over the pale skin of her upper chest, visible above the ivory camisole she wore, to suffuse her face. Sam thought she was the most enchanting thing he had seen in a very long time.

"Good night, Buffy," he said softly, brushing the smooth skin of her shoulder with his thumb one last time before dropping his hand back to his side.

Buffy backed toward the doorway slowly, her trance-like state broken only when she encountered the obstacle of the edge of the door. She sent a little smile of embarrassment his way as she side-stepped the impediment to her progress. "Night, Giles," she whispered back before clearing the threshold and moving down the hallway.

Sam listened for a moment until he heard her close her door, then followed suit. He shook his head bemusedly, realizing that tender kiss and the feeling it evoked in him was more than adequate compensation for having to listen to Al gloat. He met his friend's happy countenance and shrugged his shoulders in a 'go ahead, give it to me' gesture.

For once, Al proved he was capable of subtlety and tact. "Good night, Sam. Sleep well," was all he said before returning through the doorway to the Imaging Room.

Sam let out a surprised chuckle and then moved the pile of new bed linen to the top of the dresser. He decided nothing would be more likely to induce a pleasant night's sleep than if Buffy's light scent happened to be lingering on the pillowcases.

End Part 8


	9. Chapter 9

Thursday, April 26th, 2001 ~ The Magic Box ~ Sunnydale, California

The jingle of the bell over the door to The Magic Box was the only cheerful note in Sam's current situation as he meekly followed Anya into the shop.

The morning had begun well. He had awakened just after sunrise feeling well-rested and confident that today he and Al would be able to discover why he was here and make progress in righting whatever wrong had occurred. Even the fact that he was forced to wear yesterday's clothing, until he had an opportunity to retrieve Giles' car and make a trip to his apartment, couldn't dampen his optimism as Sam toweled off after his shower. He found himself humming as he dressed and went downstairs pleased that Buffy and Dawn were apparently not morning people, which had allowed him unfettered access to a bathroom with plentiful hot water. He couldn't summon details, but he had numerous vague memories of Leaps where this hadn't been the case.

By the time Buffy made an appearance, Sam had made coffee and the first waffle had just finished browning. He offered it to her and received a sunny smile of thanks that more than made up for the complaint his stomach raised at being forced to wait for sustenance.

Things went rapidly downhill from there.

Dawn shuffled moodily into the kitchen a few minutes later. She didn't seem to be completely conscious and Sam wondered if she was responding entirely on some basic, primitive level that had been activated by the odor of food. His theory was supported by the fact that she wordlessly snatched the plate which held the second waffle from his hand, slathered butter and poured syrup over it, cut off a huge section and shoved it into her mouth before either Buffy or Sam could say a word.

Buffy reacted first and a colossal argument erupted, during which an alarming array of personal habits and traits were dredged up in a debate over which of the sisters was less deserving of contact with other human beings. While Sam watched the mutual character assassination in morbid fascination, Anya and Xander arrived. The next two waffles went to them, the fifth to Dawn and the four of them made a serious foray into the supply of juice, fresh fruit and milk. Sam barely had time to wolf down the sixth, undersized waffle and snatch up the lone remaining banana before Buffy announced that they needed to get going or Dawn would be late for school.

Buffy herded them out the front door and Sam had to content himself with the fact that she squeezed his hand and smiled at him. She also promised to meet him at the shop after she had finished the household chores and done some grocery shopping.

Now, he was faced with an undetermined length of time in the company of the one person here who knew he wasn't Giles but was openly distrustful of what she had been told of his true identity and intentions. Sam gathered his fortitude and turned to meet Anya's baleful glare across the counter, where she was preparing the cash register for the day.

"Anya," he began carefully. "I know I haven't been able to find a way to convince you to trust us, but it's not like we've done anything to hurt any of your friends, right? Can't you try to give us the benefit of the doubt?"

"Oh, of course, you didn't kill Buffy or Dawn in their sleep. What am I thinking, withholding information from you? I will now tell you everything I know. Are you prepared to take notes?" she responded in a voice that dripped sarcasm. "And where is your little companion? Off spying on my fiancé and his friends?"

Sam heaved a deep sigh. He had been expecting Al to appear any minute for over an hour now and had no idea what to say to Anya about the Observer's continued absence. The sound of the Imaging Room door grinding open caused him to abandon his attempt to construct an excuse.

"Top o' the mornin' to you, kids. How's tricks?" Al greeted them merrily.

Anya ignored him and returned to the task of readying the shop for opening.

Sam gave Al a relieved smile. "Morning, Al. Much better now, thanks," he replied.

Al chortled and let his gaze travel slowly over Anya. "I can't understand why you'd be so happy to see me when you've already got such lovely company," he said to Sam, while continuing to ogle Anya.

"Save it, shorty," Anya snapped, subjecting Al to a withering glance. "I am impervious to what you seem to consider charm and your outfit is even more disturbing than the one you wore yesterday," she informed him before stalking off to unlock the front door and turn over the 'Closed' sign.

"Sheesh," Al said, turning to Sam with a shake of his head. "What crawled up her butt and died?"

"She's still worried we might turn out to be bad guys; and she has a legitimate point about the suit," Sam explained, squinting and then his rubbing eyes.

"This lovely ensemble?" Al scoffed. He ran a thumb and forefinger down the lapel of his sulfur yellow suit and then adjusted the bolo tie which rested under the collar of a hot pink silk shirt with maroon accents.

Anya snorted and disappeared behind a row of shelves and display cases.

"I suppose there's no accounting for taste," Sam allowed, diplomatically omitting the fact that it was Al's taste he was questioning.

"Yeah, I guess," Al agreed.

"Has Ziggy come up with anything?" Sam asked eager to get down to business.

"Some background information but nothing that seems directly related to why you're here," Al replied.

Anya returned from her tour of the shop and planted herself in front of the two men. "You go over there now," she demanded, pointing at the table where Buffy and her friends had gathered the night before. "Don't interact with the customers, don't touch the merchandise, don't annoy me and I may allow you to remain in my presence."

Sam and Al edged away from her and turned toward the table.

"I'm not holding out much hope for us not annoying her. She seems to be permanently annoyed," Al observed, in a stage whisper to Sam.

"I heard that!" Anya retorted.

"I meant for you to," Al countered.

"Al!" Sam said, sternly, as he started rifling through the containers on the counter where an electric kettle, teapot and a variety of cups and mugs sat. "Are you **trying** to get us kicked out of here?"

"Just testing the boundaries," Al explained, cheerfully unrepentant.

"Well, stop it," Sam warned. He discovered two jelly doughnuts wrapped in waxed paper, presumably left over from last night's feast, and let out a little sigh of satisfaction. Sam carried them over to the table, took a seat and tucked in before they, too, could disappear without warning.

Al raised an eyebrow at Sam's atypical fixation on non-nutritious breakfast fare. "Didn't Buffy feed you...?"

"No," Sam snapped around a mouthful of pastry. "At least not enough now get on with it or run the risk of me dying of starvation before I Leap."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Al cooed in what he probably thought was a soothing tone. "Everyone except Al is grumpy today. I would have thought the kissing last night would have put you in a better mood."

Sam noticed Anya stiffen and shoot a probing glance their way. "Al, **please**," Sam implored in a strained whisper.

Al punched some buttons on his hand-link, cleared his throat and began his report. "From the address you gave me, Ziggy came up with a telephone listing and bank records of a mortgage under the name of Joyce Summers. From there, she found marriage and divorce records for Joyce and a Henry Summers."

"Buffy and Dawn's parents? Where are they?" Sam interrupted.

Al nodded in answer to the first question. "Ziggy says the father goes by the name Hank. He lives in L.A. and travels extensively overseas. She thinks he's in Spain right now. Joyce is..." Al sighed, giving Sam a troubled look. "She died a couple of months ago from a ruptured brain aneurysm a few weeks after she had surgery to remove a tumor. The EMS records and the coroner's report state that Buffy found her on the living room couch, dead."

"Oh," Sam breathed, seeing the sympathy he felt for the young Summers women reflected in Al's eyes.

Al cleared his throat again and continued. "Buffy has a juvenile record for arson in L.A. County. She set fire to a gym at her high school in early '96. About eight months later, Joyce and Hank got divorced and Joyce moved here with the kids," he concluded, shutting down the display and sliding the hand-link back into his pocket.

"That's it?" Sam prodded. "That's all she found out?"

"I think I mentioned the problem with local records last night," Al reminded him, cutting his eyes expressively toward Anya, who was obviously intent on monitoring their conversation while pretending to be absorbed in dusting the items displayed on a nearby shelf.

"What about Giles, any headway in that department?" Sam inquired, recognizing the danger of discussing ways of finding alternate sources of information to fill in the gaps left by the destruction of the town while Anya was around.

"I'd have to say I'm losing ground on that front," Al admitted. "I meant to tell you last night but got distracted by the whole to-kiss-or-not-to-kiss discussion."

A harsh intake of breath and the sound of bric-a-brac clinking together caused Al and Sam to swing their attention over to Anya, who quickly averted her eyes and returned to her dusting.

Al let out a low chuckle before turning back to Sam. "I was talking to Giles last night and he went so pale I thought he was having a stroke. He clammed up even worse than before. Ziggy says he paced back and forth all night and didn't sleep a wink. This morning it seemed like he couldn't stand to be in the same room with me. He didn't even make eye contact, which pretty much left talking way off the probability matrix."

"Are you sure it wasn't your outfit?" Sam inquired, staying Al's incipient complaint with a placating gesture. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. What do you think set him off?"

Al shrugged in confusion. "It started when I mentioned Buffy telling you she was worried about the knights finding out that Dawn is the key."

The loud crash cut off Sam's next question and Anya was suddenly there, eyes blazing.

"What did you say about Dawn?" she demanded.

The two men glanced at each other in concern.

"I asked you a question and you'd better answer me **right** now. If you don't I'm calling Buffy and telling her everything," Anya barked out. "And don't think you can stop me."

"All right," Sam replied as calmly as he could. He related a brief outline of his conversation with Buffy the night before, her concerns about her ability to protect Dawn and her reasons for asking Sam, believing him to be Giles, to move in with them.

Anya listened carefully and when Sam finished she looked from one man to the other and back again, her expression serious but otherwise unreadable. Finally, some of the tension went out of her body and she moved forward and took a seat across the table from Sam.

"You knew this last night, before you came back to the house."

She had stated this, not posed a question, and didn't actually seem to be addressing him but Sam answered her anyway. "Yes."

"Then you must have been telling me the truth all along," she concluded. "If you were in league with Glory you would have run off right away to tell her and she would have already come after Dawn."

"I'm glad you believe us, Anya," Sam said. "We really are here to help you and your friends. Will you help us do that?"

Anya considered the hopeful expressions on both men's faces. "Giles is a lot smarter; about this kind of thing, anyway. You should really ask him," she suggested.

"I've told him some of what's going on, Anya," Al told her, gently. "But he only has my word for it. He doesn't really trust me and I can't prove to him that I'm telling the truth. He's worried about all of you and afraid that something he might say will be used to hurt you or put you in danger."

"That sounds like Giles," Anya admitted with a weak little smile.

"Just about anything you can tell us about you and your friends will help," Sam encouraged her.

Anya sat staring at her hands thoughtfully for a few moments while Al and Sam crossed their fingers and held their breath. When she lifted her gaze again she seemed much more confident. "All right, I'll tell you what I know; but I'd better make some tea first. It's a pretty long story."

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Anya, who had been speaking rapidly and nearly without pause for an hour and a half, tilted her head and considered the slack-jawed expressions of the two men sitting across from her. "I think that's everything. Do you have any questions?" she inquired brightly.

Sam and Al turned slowly toward one another. After a moment, Sam lifted his teacup, drained it and then set it down. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and put his head down.

"Good idea," Al decided, nodding. "Gushie," he said to the ceiling in a loud voice. "Have the corporal on duty run up to my quarters and fetch my bottle of bourbon and a glass." After a pause, he continued in a growl. "I **know** I'm on duty, but these qualify as extreme circumstances. Move it!"

Anya rose to greet and assist a customer, leaving Sam and Al to mentally review the engrossing and horrifying story she had told them. If Sam had lifted his head, he would have seen a glass and a liquor bottle appear in Al's hands. He heard the clink of the bottle neck against the rim of the glass and the gurgle of what he gauged to be one finger of liquid slosh into its new container. When he heard Al smack his lips and let out a sigh of gratification, Sam raised his head and opened his eyes.

"Nice nap?" Al asked him, rotating the heavy glass in his hand and watching the small amount of dark amber liquid swirl in the bottom.

Sam couldn't help it, he started to laugh; and once he started he couldn't seem to stop. When his soft chuckles segued into loud guffaws and gasps for air, Anya came over.

"Go into the back room before you endanger my livelihood," she insisted, pointing to the door to the training room.

Al, though he could not be heard by the customer and hadn't been banished, solemnly drained his glass, set it and the bottle on the floor and rose to follow Sam; the glass, bottle and chair disappearing from view as Al released each from his touch.

When the training room door closed behind them, Sam's hysterical fit eased off to intermittent giggles. "Watcher and Slayer, vampires, demons, apocalypses, witches, werewolves, a Hellmouth, rogue sorcerers, fairytale characters coming to life, a gigantic snake-mayor, a new and improved Frankenstein monster, a cabal of supercilious British gentlemen and ladies, a Hell-god and a brain-sucking snot monster from outer space," he listed off.

Al nodded. "Amongst a host of other life and sanity threatening hazards; but, to be fair, the werewolf was one of the good guys."

Sam dropped onto a stack of athletic mats and shook his head, sobering. "My God, Al; what can **I** possibly do to help **them**?"

"So, you're buying her story?" Al asked.

Sam stood, thrust his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and began to pace. "If she'd left out the part about the Initiative I might have doubted her, but she had no way of knowing we had already found out about that. And our information fits with hers."

"Except maybe for the emphasis on Xander's indispensability in that and every other campaign they've waged," Al pointed out.

"She's in love," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. He rubbed his face with both hands and turned to his friend. "What should we do now?"

Anya opened the door and entered the room, shutting the door behind her. "Buffy's here," she told Sam. "She said she's ready to go to Giles' apartment and pick up whatever you need to be comfortable at her house. I told her you'd be out in a minute."

Sam nodded in acknowledgment.

"Are you going to talk to Giles now?" Anya asked Al.

Sam and Al traded shrugs.

"I'm willing to give it a shot, but I don't see why he'd trust me any more than he has up until now. In fact, he'll probably be even more suspicious if I tell him how much more we know," Al reasoned.

Anya thought for a moment. "Tell him... tell Giles I'm taking good care of the shop until he gets back and that I'm almost positive you two aren't bunnies," she advised him.

"Bunnies?" Al queried, incredulous.

Anya shivered. "Yes." She turned to Sam. "Listen carefully and I'll give you directions to Giles' apartment. You really shouldn't let Buffy drive Giles' car or ride in it while she does. It isn't safe."

As Al closed the Imaging Room door behind him he heard Sam begin to laugh again.

End Part 9


	10. Chapter 10

Tuesday March 20th, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

Giles stopped pacing when he heard the door slide open behind him. He turned and sighed deeply to see Al approaching him.

"If you've come to annoy me with your appearance or endless questions I have no intention of answering I may not be able to restrain myself from inflicting damage upon your person," Giles said formally but with a decided undertone of threat in his voice.

"At least you're speaking to me again," Al said with a smirk. "I have marines and tranquilizer gas in my arsenal, so let's see if I can push beyond annoy to infuriate. Being nice certainly hasn't gotten me anywhere. And what's wrong with my appearance?"

Giles carefully ran his gaze from the top of Al's head to his feet and back up. "I'd be hard pressed to say what **isn't** wrong with your appearance. I have been considering making a request for other garments," he explained, tugging distastefully at the skin tight white body suit with a thumb and forefinger. "But was concerned that anything you might provide would be even less palatable to me than this."

Al laughed. "Anya's right. You're kinda cute when you're cranky."

"You are not, in the least, convincing. Anya would never describe me as 'cute'," Giles growled, pacing away.

"You're right. She said you're sexy when you get all 'cranky and menacing'. I just didn't want to you to get any wrong ideas about me," Al replied.

Giles stopped at the far wall, thinking about what Al had said before turning. "You overheard Anya talking to your friend Sam about me," he implied.

Al shook his head. "Nope, she was telling me not to piss you off or you might thrash me."

Giles rushed forward. "You **have** been lying all this time! You told me no one but Sam could see or hear you when you visited him in the past. This is all some ridiculous charade and I insist you release me at once!"

Al stood his ground, shaking his head sadly. "This isn't a charade or a joke, Giles. I wish to God it was. This is deadly serious. I'm gonna come clean and see if there's any way for us to find common ground. It's the only thing left I can think of to try."

Giles listened in mounting astonishment and dread as Al explained that Anya could see Sam and him, she had agreed to keep their secret and had ultimately decided to trust them. As Al ran down the highlights of Anya's tale of the Watcher, the Slayer and the Scooby gang, Giles dropped into a seated position on the table, tuned him out and began to tally how many ways he could think of to maim, torture and kill the ex-vengeance demon if he ever managed to return to Sunnydale. He was so engrossed in this activity that he was startled to feel a touch on his shoulder. Giles batted the offending appendage away and looked up into the sympathetic face of his jailer.

"She was only trying to help, Giles. And she has," Al told him.

"So she has helped you and you came in here for what purpose? To gloat? To make me understand how pointless my silence has been?" Giles choked out in fury. "Well, mission accomplished. Now leave me alone!" Giles was desperately reviewing the countless ideas for attempting an escape he had considered over the past twenty hours. Nothing seemed any more feasible now than it had before and he railed inwardly at his failure to find a way to warn Buffy of this new peril.

Al spoke up again, interrupting his train of thought. "The reason she decided to trust us is that she knows we know Dawn is the key and we didn't tell Glory; or anyone else for that matter," Al explained. "And don't try to tell me that information isn't important. If it was trivial you wouldn't have done that terrific imitation of a catatonic state last night."

Giles considered this for a moment. "How does she know you haven't informed Glory?" he finally asked.

Al rolled his eyes. "Because we're still around and Dawn is fine." Al's hand-link beeped but he only pulled it from his pocket in order to shut it off.

Giles stared into the other man's eyes. Al met his gaze steadily. Giles considered himself a good judge of character and knew his intelligence was well above average. Everything this man had told him, even the least believable, fitted neatly into a coherent whole - if Al were telling the truth.

"By the way," Al went on softly. "Anya asked me to tell you that she's taking good care of the shop until you get back and that she's almost positive Sam and I aren't bunnies." Giles detected a hint of embarrassment in Al's eyes. "I hope you realize how difficult it was for me to relay that message word for word," Al added with chagrin.

Giles struggled with his firmly entrenched instinct to suspect everything when it came to the slightest possibility of harm coming to Buffy and the preponderance of evidence that now lay on the side of Al and Sam being exactly what they represented themselves to be. It suddenly occurred to Giles that he knew Anya to be at least as distrustful and difficult to win over as he was himself and, much as he tried to fight it, a glimmer of hope began to grow in him.

The sound of a man's throat being cleared sounded from somewhere in the ceiling, causing Al to angrily break their staring contest. "Not now, Gushie. I'm busy," he snapped hoarsely.

"Um, s... sorry, Admiral, but it's urgent. Ziggy discovered that Buffy's real name is Elizabeth Anne," the hesitant, disembodied voice announced.

"Imagine my surprise that Buffy is a nickname," Al ground out sarcastically. "So you thought it was imperative to inform me her parents aren't complete sadists when I told you I wasn't to be disturbed?"

"N... no. That's not... I mean, once Ziggy discovered her real name she found out something... important. She sent it to your hand-link. Sorry for disturbing you, Admiral."

Giles heard the click of the intercom being shut off and watched Al shift his eyes back and forth between him and the hand-link. Apparently, he decided the moment had been lost and the shorter man sighed, punched a button on the small device and squinted at the tiny screen. Al's usually mobile features stiffened, then his lips began to move but nothing audible emerged. Giles felt a wavering, queasy sensation building in his gut. "What is it?" he whispered, not really wanting to know but unable to resist the need to discover what had so affected the other man.

"May 4th," Al said, simply.

"May 4th?" Giles prompted. When Al met his gaze, Giles gasped at the bleakness in the shorter man's eyes.

"May 4th, 2001. That's the date on Elizabeth Anne Summers' death certificate. Buffy is going to die in eight days," Al told him.

Giles felt a numbness spread through his body as he stood staring at Al in shock. The words 'Buffy is going to die' echoed in his mind, which was otherwise empty of thought. He watched Al thrust the device which had heralded the appalling news into his pocket. He pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and began pacing; muttering under his breath and pausing only long enough to light the cigar before resuming his movement, criss-crossing the room in agitation. After a few minutes, Giles began to comprehend what he was saying.

"Damn it!" Al cursed. "I knew it. I **knew** it was going to be one of those Leaps!"

Although the leaden heaviness seemed to have paralyzed him completely, Giles was surprised to find himself responding, though his voice sounded weak and hollow to his ears. "What kind of Leap?"

Apparently, his voice had been loud enough to reach Al because the irritated man stalked back and planted himself in front of Giles again.

"The kind of Leap where Sam has to save someone from dying. The kind of Leap where he takes on a sense of responsibility and all kinds of guilt for something that's not his fault. The kind of Leap where he's in danger of being badly hurt or even killed. The kind of Leap where, if he fails and remembers what happened, he's haunted by his inability to fix something that wasn't his doing in the first place," Al listed off in a growl. When Giles didn't speak, Al continued his rant. "For two years he's had to give up a normal life so that he can help other people who don't even know he exists, without thanks, without rest; it's just one crisis after another. If we can't find a way to bring him back he'll just keep doing it until he dies."

As he became aware of the hint of accusation in Al's voice and expression, Giles felt a flicker of resentment overcome the numbness. "While I'm sure I can't **possibly** relate to your situation, you have my sympathy and good wishes," he offered in an even, but caustic, tone.

Giles watched Al's jaws tense and saw his teeth bite down sharply into the cigar he held in his mouth. Al's eyes shifted rapidly over Giles' expression and Giles suspected he was considering the stories Anya had told him and Sam in a new light; along with the news he had just delivered regarding Buffy's doom.

Al glanced away from Giles' intense stare and removed the cigar from his teeth, knocking off the ash. "Okay, you do understand what it's like," Al admitted, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. "So, I guess I should stop yelling at you and we should start figuring out how to save Buffy."

Giles sighed deeply and found he was capable of movement, so he began to pace slowly around the room, thinking. He came to a stop and leaned heavily against the far wall then looked over at Al, who was watching him closely.

"It's her gift," Giles said. "That's what the spirit guide told her."

Giles watched Al approach, confusion evident on his face. "Spirit guide? What is whose gift?" Al asked.

"Death is Buffy's gift," Giles explained.

Al halted in his tracks. "'Death is Buffy's gift'? What the hell does that mean?"

Giles shrugged lightly and glanced away, but a flash of movement in the corner of his vision caused him to look back to see Al was now glaring up into his face.

"You expect me to think you're okay with Buffy dying?" he demanded.

"Is this place very far from Sunnydale?" Giles asked.

If Al was startled by this seemingly abrupt change of subject, he covered it well. "Pretty far," he replied.

"But on the same continent?" Giles guessed.

"Yeah, and in distances of that magnitude, not all that far away," Al agreed.

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "Did anything... untoward... happen in California in May 2001?"

Al snorted, some of his natural irreverence resurfacing. "Something 'untoward' is **always** happening in California."

Giles smiled thinly, although he felt little humor. "Quite. But I meant something on a very large scale. A huge earthquake with massive devastation. Seas boiling. Reports of nightmare creatures that defy description laying waste to a large area. An unidentified plague decimating the population. Widespread disappearances of a considerable number of people. Anything of that sort?"

It took Al a moment, but he managed to respond. "No, nothing like that."

Giles nodded. He stared down at his feet for a long while. "Then she won," he whispered.

"Won what?" Al asked.

"Her final battle. We may have perished, but we foiled whatever plan Glory was attempting to execute," Giles explained.

"'We'?" Al queried.

"I presume you have a record of my demise as well on that device of yours," Giles said evenly. "Death would only be able to reach her by coming through me."

"Uh," Al said, shifting nervously. "Ziggy... Ziggy was looking for information about Buffy when she found her, uh, the you know..." he trailed off.

"I see," Giles said. The numbness was returning and he found he couldn't summon the energy to pursue the topic further. His silence seemed to spur Al's anger to a higher level.

"I never expected to see this kind of fatalism from a Brit," Al snapped. "And anyway, this is **America**. Around here, we try to make the **other** guy die for **their** cause."

This statement roused Giles slightly. "Don't you understand?" he demanded of the other man. "I was **there** and I couldn't stop it. Nothing I could think of or discover or tried was enough. What do you expect me to do from here?"

Al deflated in reaction to the anguish in Giles' voice and expression. "For the moment, nothing," he replied. "I have to go see Sam now. Maybe we can talk some more when I get back."

Giles closed his eyes, not caring whether Al stayed or left. He wondered if he would still die, now that Sam was taking his place in the past. Perhaps Sam would Leap at the last moment, allowing Giles the small mercy of falling alongside Buffy in their final campaign. He fervently hoped it would be so. He no more wanted Sam to die than he wanted to survive beyond Buffy's last moment of existence.

End Part 10


	11. Chapter 11

Thursday, April 26th, 2001 ~ Rupert Giles' apartment ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam picked up the leather-bound journal he had glanced at the last time he had been in Giles' flat and placed it on top of a pile of shorts and t-shirts he had packed in the leather satchel he had found in Giles' closet. He briefly scanned the overloaded bookshelves in the lounge area hoping to discover matching volumes but abandoned the search when he heard Buffy returning from her trip to the car. He quickly folded a pair of jeans over the journal and added a couple of casual shirts on top of that.

"Your garment bag fit nicely in the trunk, Giles. You don't have to worry about your suits and shirts getting smooshed," Buffy told him. She glanced at the nearly full bag sitting on the stool near the counter that separated the entryway from the kitchen. "All done?" she asked.

Sam would have dearly loved to spend a couple of hours sifting through Giles' possessions in search of clues to the purpose of this Leap, but couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to get Buffy to leave him alone there for that length of time. "I just need to get some things from the, uh, bathroom," he said, forcing himself to be content with what he had managed to obtain. Maybe Al would return with good news about his latest conversation with Giles.

"The cucumber-melon body wash wasn't exactly your cup of tea, huh?" Buffy guessed, with a smile.

"Nor the 'Berrylicious' shampoo," Sam agreed. "I keep thinking I should squirt a dollop of whipped cream on top of my head."

Buffy chuckled. "Blame Dawn for that one."

"If you insist," Sam replied. "I'll just be a minute." Since he had fully explored the loft at the start of this Leap, he knew the bathroom must be at the end of the short hall that ran past the kitchen. He headed that way and was relieved to discover he had been correct. As he rifled through the medicine cabinet and the small cupboard, the quantity of prescription pain medications, salves and bandages, in addition to the most well-stocked first aid kit he had ever seen, gave him pause. He read the labels on the prescription bottles, most of which were months or years old. He peered through the amber plastic containers and realized little, if any, of the medication had ever been used. "Jesus, Giles. Cut yourself a break, huh? These were probably prescribed for a good reason," Sam murmured aloud.

Buffy's voice came to him from the other room. "If you've got anything perishable we should probably have it for lunch," she suggested. "You might be staying with us for a while."

"Good idea," he called back, returning the prescription bottles to the medicine cabinet and quickly collecting shaving cream, a razor, a manly brand of soap and a few other things from Giles' supply of toiletries. The possibility of competing with only one other diner for his share of a meal was very appealing and his stomach growled in anticipation. He hurried back to the main area of the apartment and dumped his booty into the satchel and closed it up. He glanced up to see Buffy turn from the refrigerator.

"How about grilled cheese sandwiches and a salad?" she suggested. "That should use up pretty much everything that would go bad in a few days."

"Sounds good," Sam said with a nod. He joined her in the kitchen and began to wash the greens she had left next to the sink while Buffy sliced cheese. They worked in companionable silence until the food was ready. They carried plates, glasses and silverware into the lounge and sat down on the couch. Sam took a healthy bite of his sandwich and closed his eyes, enjoying the crunch of the toasted bread and the flavor of the melted cheese. Finally, a meal he could savor without worrying about...

"Giles," Buffy said softly.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he turned slightly to see Buffy poking half-heartedly at her salad with her fork. "Is there something wrong with the salad?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so. I haven't tried it yet," Buffy admitted. She put down her fork and sighed. "Giles," she began again, looking up at him. "Last night... what, um, why did you kiss me?"

Sam swallowed his mouthful of food and put his sandwich plate back down on the coffee table. "I thought you wanted me to," Sam replied, honestly.

"Oh," Buffy breathed, looking away.

"Was I wrong?" Sam asked a little confused.

"No, that's not it. I did. I really did. I just thought, maybe..." she trailed off.

When she didn't continue, Sam reached over and placed a warm hand over hers, which were fiddling with the napkin that was spread over her knee. "What?" he inquired gently.

"It's not important," Buffy said softly, her eyes still averted.

Sam reached over with his other hand and tilted her head up. He stroked her chin, encouraging her to look at him. She met his eyes reluctantly. "Of course it is if something is bothering you. What is it, Buffy?"

"I just... I was kinda hoping you kissed me because you wanted to, too. Not just because I..."

Sam smiled and was about to chuckle but he choked it back when he saw the disappointment on Buffy's face. "Buffy," he admonished her, tapping her lightly under the chin with one knuckle, encouraging her to keep meeting his eyes. "I admit, I was a little unsure before I kissed you but, if you think back, I'm sure you'll realize that I was quickly brought over to your way of thinking," he said with a grin.

Buffy searched his expression and apparently liked what she saw. Her eyes began to dance and a lovely blush glowed in her cheeks. "Really?"

"Let me refresh your memory," Sam suggested. He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against hers. Buffy tilted her head and Sam deepened the kiss, sliding one hand behind her head and his other arm around her back, encouraging her to move closer to him. He was so engrossed in the feel of the woman in his arms and her increasingly ardent reaction to the kiss that he was only vaguely aware of the sound of the Imaging Room door opening and closing. Sam also managed to ignore the sound of a throat being cleared from somewhere a few feet behind the couch. It was the ironic tone in the familiar, rough voice of his best friend that ultimately gained his attention.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but quit kissing the girl and pay attention, Sam," Al insisted.

Sam moved away from Buffy slightly and watched her open her eyes. They smiled at each other.

"I guess we **are** on the same page," Buffy commented, reaching up to trace Sam's features with her fingertips. "Oooo, check the book metaphor!" she added merrily.

Sam laughed and pressed one hand over hers, trapping her palm against his cheek. "Lovely," he said, not necessarily referring to her turn of phrase.

"Sam!" Al demanded loudly. "Serious talk now, try to get lucky later."

"Maybe we should finish our lunch and talk later," Sam said to Buffy, hoping Al would also take the hint.

"Okay," Buffy agreed, shifting her position and picking up her fork.

"Good," Al said, coming around the couch to stand in front of the fireplace, facing Sam. "You listen, I'll talk."

Sam shook his head marginally as he took a second bite of his sandwich. Either Al didn't notice or chose to ignore the subtle rejection, because he kept talking.

"I'm about to tell you something pretty shocking but try not to react. I'll fill you in on what's up and we can talk when you get back to the shop. I think I found out why you're here."

Sam glanced up sharply, becoming apprehensive when he saw the grim expression on Al's face.

"Buffy is going to die in eight days," Al said bluntly.

Sam, who had just begun to swallow, felt his eyes bulge out as the chewed mass of bread and cheese went into his windpipe due to the gasp of astonishment this piece of news prompted. He began to choke.

"Sam!" Al shouted in alarm. He stepped forward and stopped in the middle of the coffee table.

The bizarre image burned itself into his brain as Sam struggled for breath. He felt a blow from the flat of someone's hand impact sharply on his back; once, twice.

"Giles! Giles, are you okay?" Buffy asked him frantically. "Giles!"

As his vision began to dim, Sam wondered fleetingly about the questionable sense of humor Al always attributed to the Higher Power that directed their lives. After all the dangers he and Giles had faced it would be something of an anti-climax to be brought low by a grilled cheese sandwich.

End Part 11


	12. Chapter 12

Thursday, April 26th, 2001 ~ Rupert Giles' apartment ~ Sunnydale, California

His first awareness, as he began to regain consciousness, was of a burning sensation in his throat. As he took a deep breath, a constricting band of pain around his rib cage asserted itself, along with a deep ache in the center of his torso just over his diaphragm. He heard a woman's voice, fraught with anxiety, speaking to him from very close range.

"Okay, breathing on your own; that's good, Giles, but **please** open your eyes."

She sounded so distraught that Sam struggled to do just that in order to reassure her. It wasn't easy, but he managed to pry them open a crack. A blurry face, surrounded by a hazy cloud of blonde hair, was mere inches from his face. She was so close he felt the rush of her breath as she exhaled mightily.

"Oh, Giles! Thank God," she said, leaning back a little.

Sam moved slightly as he took his next breath, trying to ease the pain in his ribs. The woman, Buffy he now recalled, placed a gentle but restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Stay there for a minute, Giles," Buffy admonished him. "Maybe I should call an ambulance."

"Yeah Sam, stay put. She might be right."

Sam shifted his gaze to see Al's craggy face, creased with a combination of relief and concern, hovering over him.

"I..." Sam paused to try and clear his throat. The attempt sent another flare of agony through his windpipe but something shifted and he felt the pain subside. "I think I'm all right," he managed to say. This time when he tried to sit up, Buffy helped him as he gained his feet, guided him over to the couch and supported him as he settled into a seated position. Buffy scrutinized his face, brushing his hair back off his forehead.

"Sure you're okay?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Sam assured her in a somewhat stronger voice. "Thank you."

Buffy smiled then frowned as she turned to look at the food on the coffee table. She picked up Sam's plate and glared at the sandwich. "Probably cursed or something. I just **love** living on the Hellmouth." She dropped his plate on top of hers, gathered the silverware and napkins and turned toward the kitchen. "Just let me get these things cleared away and we'll head back to the shop."

Sam glumly watched another meal, which had been oh-so-briefly his, disappear. He turned to see Al had moved over next to him and was slapping his hand-link, which was warbling a high-pitched scream, into silence. Al looked at him in apology.

"Sorry, pal. Wow, it's a good thing Buffy knows the Heimlich maneuver. You should have seen how far that chunk of food went flying! She's really good in a crisis," Al beamed, nodding with approval.

"Too bad there needed to **be** a crisis," Sam hissed, hoping the sound of running water in the kitchen would keep Buffy from hearing him. He wrapped one arm around his ribs, which ached something fierce, as he bent over to retrieve Giles' glasses from the floor.

"I told you it was something kind of shocking," Al said, defensively. "You couldn't wait a few seconds to try and swallow?" Before Sam could reply, Al's head lifted up toward the ceiling. "My hand-link isn't malfunctioning!" he snapped. "Sam had a little accident and all that caterwauling was distracting me." He listened for a moment. "All right, Gushie, calm down. I'm listening."

He moved away and Sam took the opportunity, with Buffy and Al momentarily distracted, to take a quick physical inventory. The pain in his ribs and diaphragm were likely the result of Buffy's application of the emergency first aid procedure and Sam didn't think anything was broken, displaced or ruptured. He picked up the glass of water that Buffy had left on the coffee table and drank half of it down, which eased the majority of the irritation that remained in his throat.

Buffy and Al returned at the same time. Buffy picked up the water glasses and sent a meaningful look Sam's way.

"Giles..." she began, in warning.

"I'm fine, Buffy. Don't fuss," Sam said grumpily.

Buffy smiled and nodded. "That's my Giles. So he had a brush with death; no need to hover," she mocked him saucily before returning to the kitchen.

Al chuckled and then laughed out loud when Sam glared at him. "She really likes you. Giles. Whatever," Al observed.

"What did Gushie want?" Sam whispered, hoping to derail the possibility of Al launching into one of his lectures on what constituted his ideal of a close relationship.

"You know how we've wondered what would happen if you or your host died while you were Leaping?" Al asked, his expression becoming serious again.

Sam nodded.

"Well, let's just agree we don't need further experimentation. When you lost consciousness, Giles passed out cold. He cracked his... well, **your** head on the edge of the table as he went down."

"Al! Is he..."

At Sam's stifled outcry, Al waved a placating hand and glanced nervously at the kitchen. The sound of the garbage disposal had been added to the running water and, apparently, Buffy had not been alerted to the conversation in the next room.

"He's gonna be okay," Al continued, easing Sam's mind. "Verbena says it's a mild concussion, at most. He's resting now. The poor guy's exhausted."

"Did you tell him about...?" Sam tilted his head in an eloquent motion toward Buffy, who had just re-entered the room.

"Yeah," Al admitted. "And he took it worse than you did; which, I suppose, was to be expected."

"Ready to go?" Buffy asked Sam.

Sam rose on his own, gently refusing Buffy's attempt to assist him. His one concession to his slightly dented condition was allowing Buffy to carry the bag he had packed out to the car.

When they arrived at the shop, Buffy announced her intention to train; firmly insisting that 'Giles' do nothing more strenuous than read. Since Anya was busy with several customers, Sam sat down at the table and motioned to Al to join him. Al pulled up a chair in the Imaging Room and sat down. He told Sam about Giles' reaction to the news that Buffy was about to die, his conclusion that they had, at least, thwarted Glory's plans and probably either killed or banished her and his belief that he had died along with Buffy in the battle.

Sam was taken aback at this news. "Did you tell him he survived?"

"No, I didn't tell him," Al replied. "He was already busted up enough about what happened to her. I didn't see the point in twisting the knife by telling him he's still alive."

Sam puzzled over this for a few moments. "But, him being alive; that's a good thing, right?"

The only response Al gave him was a deep sigh. Sam watched patiently as Al stared at something non-existent a few yards away from the table. He had seen Al do this before. It meant he was trying to decide whether to risk sharing something personal. Sam knew from experience how hard that was for his friend so he sat quietly, hoping Al would open up and share what he was thinking. Finally, Al shifted his gaze to Sam's face.

"Sam, how do you think I would feel if you died on one of your Leaps?" Al asked in a soft, somber tone. "Even if I were there when it happened I wouldn't really **be** there. I wouldn't be able to help you or stop it; and I would live because the danger would be wherever you were, not here."

As he considered Al's question, Sam thought about how he used to think that the older man's dark eyes were mysterious and expressed nothing, other than occasional fits of anger. Sam wondered when that had changed or when he had learned to interpret what he saw there. He knew better than to express, in words, what he saw in Al's eyes now. It was too real, too personal and Al would shy away from it; although he had bravely allowed Sam to see it.

"I'd be glad you were still alive, Al," Sam said.

Al smiled sadly. "I know you would, pal. But I asked you how you thought **I** would feel."

Sam leaned forward to let Al get a good look at his face. "I think I know," he said.

Al considered his expression closely and then cleared his throat. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "Yeah, I guess you do," he allowed. "And in addition to being friends, Buffy and Giles are, well, whatever else they are to each other. So I think we're better off concentrating on finding a way to keep Buffy from dying; that way it's a moot point how Giles would react to the knowledge that she died and he didn't."

The rest of the Scoobies arrived shortly thereafter. They shared a meal in which Sam managed to acquire and consume two entire pieces of pizza. Buffy warned them all to be on the lookout for Knights and/or Glory's minions tailing them, admonished them not to talk about Scooby business where they might be overheard and to travel in pairs or larger groups, especially at night.

Before Buffy headed off on patrol, she looked Sam up and down. "Are you sure you're up to babysitting Dawn alone? You could probably talk Xander and Anya into waiting until I get back from patrol before they go home."

Sam was about to reassure her, for the third time, that he was perfectly capable of looking after one young teenager when Anya objected loudly to the suggestion.

"Xander and I need to go home as soon as possible. We are **way** behind in the number of orgasms we usually share in a week and it is beginning to affect my mood in a very negative way. I was barely able to tolerate the annoying patrons who came to spend money in the shop today and that cannot continue," she insisted. Anya wrapped her arms around one of Xander's. "It will take all evening and possibly much of the night to restore our equilibrium."

Al ogled her openly. "Wow, maybe I should keep an eye on them instead of going back to see how Giles is doing."

Sam was prepared to jump in with a distraction, since Anya could hear him and might forget to pretend she couldn't; but the woman simply beamed at Al, apparently pleased at his interest.

"Giles?" Buffy prompted.

Sam jumped; startled out of his growing dismay at the suggestive looks Al and Anya were giving each other.

"I, uh, I think **everyone** should go home, as soon as possible," Sam replied, with a pointed look at Al.

"Okay, then," Buffy agreed. "See you after patrol."

Al gave Sam a disgruntled look as the other man climbed into the back seat of Xander's car. "I never get to have any fun," he groused.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Sam turned to see the bright light of the Imaging Chamber door opening and the silhouette of his friend retreating. He sighed in relief. He had been subjected to two brief sexual commentaries by Anya already and he didn't want to contemplate the enhanced experience that would be Anya's **and** Al's perspectives of whatever Anya had in store for Xander that night.

End Part 12


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Here's a holiday prezzie – a bonus chapter. I might not have a chance to post tomorrow so I thought I should send this sooner rather than later and it's been too long since we checked in on Giles, oui? Cheers!

Thursday March 22nd, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

Giles lifted his eyes from the paper he had been reading and considered the figure of Al Calavicci carefully. The other man appeared to be absorbed in studying a series of drawings of a hell dimension but Giles was fairly certain he knew he was under observation.

Two days ago, Al had returned from a visit to the past just as Giles had roused from his stupor after fainting and hitting his head. Giles had been in a foul mood; owing to the fact that, without a vampire or demon in sight, he had still managed to rack up another head injury. Not even the realization that it hadn't actually been **his** head that had been damaged could improve Giles' humor.

Al seemed inordinately pleased that Giles was upset and cheerfully agreed to his demand that the 'serious computer power' Al had alluded to in an earlier conversation be turned toward producing as much information about Glory as possible.

Since then there had been some startling changes in what Giles continued to consider his cell. Two large tables had been brought in to accommodate the reams of computer printouts that a variety of people carried into the room from time to time. Giles had read everything they had brought him. Most of it duplicated information he had already discovered while researching Glory before he had been brought here. The remainder was vague enough that it might just as easily be attributable to another being from a different hell.

From what Al had told him, his friends were faring no better. They had just begun another round with the same material, hoping to glean something in their third attempt that no one had noticed the first two times they had reviewed it.

Giles dropped the paper he had been holding and lifted a few other pages from the table. He wasn't really interested in these, either. He was interested in what he was convinced Al was keeping from him.

In the last two days, every time he had tried to talk to Al about the manner of his death, Buffy's death or what might have happened to his other friends, Al had managed to avoid answering any of his questions.

The first time, Al had deflected him with a question he said Sam needed answered. He asked Giles how he managed to get enough to eat with a crowd of what seemed to be human-shaped locusts around. When he told Al that treachery and guile had always served him well, Al had rushed off saying, 'Not Sam's strong point, but I'll tell him.'

When the next opportunity to introduce the topic arose, Al had sidetracked him with an unending slew of questions about Anya's sexual proclivities and history. The interrogation became so distasteful and absurd that Giles had finally sputtered out that Anya seemed to have no compunction about discussing such things and that Al might be better off going directly to the source. Al had been out the door before Giles realized he had been duped again.

Giles prepared himself carefully for his next attempt, coaching himself mentally to stay on topic. "Al, while this information about Glory is helpful I believe we are neglecting what is potentially a more valuable source of information," he began. "Anything you can tell me about Buffy's death, or mine, or any harm that may have come to our friends might yield important clues about our conflict with Glory," Giles said in as calm and reasonable a tone as he could muster. He was encouraged by the fact that Al didn't respond right away, suggesting he wasn't prepared with a gambit to distract him.

"I told you Buffy's death certificate just said she died as a result of injuries sustained in a fall. Nothing else we've discovered has been any more helpful than that," Al replied.

Giles was gratified that the other man hadn't even attempted to change the subject. "That's not particularly clear, Al. A fall? A fall from what? A tumble down the stairs wouldn't be enough to slow down a Slayer, much less, uh, kill her." Giles winced inwardly at the difficulty he still had even mentioning Buffy's death. If he were to help avert the tragedy he **had** to find a way to think of it in a more abstract, dispassionate way.

Al seemed to be struggling for something to say and Giles steeled himself to meet what was sure to be an effort to steer him away from this line of inquiry. When he thought about it later, he realized there was no way he could have anticipated what came next.

"C'mon, Giles," Al tried weakly. "I really think focusing on Glory is the best way to solve this and get you back to your sweetie."

"My... I beg your pardon?" Giles inquired, uneasily.

Al straightened and smiled. "Well, Sam is filling in for you as best he can but I'm sure Buffy would rather be kissing the real article, right?"

"K... kissing?" Giles stuttered.

"Well, yeah. Sam's got to keep up the pretense that he's you. Buffy would get suspicious, as well as downright crabby, if Sam didn't come across with the lovin' as necessary," Al explained.

"L... lo..." Giles cleared his throat and tried again but couldn't seem to produce as much as an entire word, let alone a sentence.

"Don't worry," Al advised him. "Sam's a perfect gentleman. I'm sure it hasn't gone beyond, you know, a PG13 rating." Al paused for moment, a thoughtful look on his face. He looked back at Giles and nodded. "Yeah, he would have told me if they'd done anything else. And, hey, it's not like Buffy is cheating on you or anything. She thinks Sam **is** you," Al concluded. "Speaking of Sam, I should probably go see how things are going back there. See you later."

Giles blinked stupidly, watching in stunned disbelief as Al scurried from the room. "Lovin'?" he whispered.

It took him quite some time to recover his composure, during which images of what Al had hinted at rose to confound him. He finally allowed himself to accept the possibility that, if they could find a way to save her, he might have a chance to explore the way his feelings about Buffy had changed; something he had only recently acknowledged to himself. Once he had made peace with himself, he found he could concentrate again. He had been determined to discover Al's secret at the next opportunity and now he was prepared to engage his opponent.

"Al..." Giles said. Apparently, he had been correct in his assumption that Al knew he was under observation because the admiral jumped in peremptorily.

"Just a sec, Giles; I've been meaning to ask you. How do you manage to keep that group of hotties hanging around?" Al asked, pulling a cigar from his inside breast pocket.

Giles ground his teeth in mock frustration, hoping to convince Al his stratagem was working. By the smug little grin he could see tugging at the corner of Al's mouth, Giles suspected the other man was counting on Giles' background, upbringing and British reserve to send him into a fit of embarrassed propriety, distracting him from his goal. It was time to turn the tables.

"I service them on a regular basis," Giles replied, in a calm, offhand manner.

Al glanced up sharply into the face of the taller man, who was, in turn, regarding him with a mild, unruffled gaze. "You... you..."

"Have it off with them," Giles confirmed.

Al's dumbfounded expression and continued silence filled Giles with perverse satisfaction so he went on.

"Oh, sorry, perhaps you're not familiar with that expression," Giles apologized, in a polite and cultured tone. "Fuck?" he tried, with the look of a sincere innocent who was doing his all in an attempt to communicate with a foreigner.

Al gulped, his unlit cigar dangling, forgotten, between his fingers. "Them?" he managed in a voice that crossed from one octave to another in a single syllable.

Giles nodded. "All of them. Well, not all at once, mind," he confided. "It's important for each of them to feel special; experience the sort of **personal** attention which fosters a firm attachment." He clapped Al on the shoulder and gave him a friendly smile, as one mate to another. "You know what I mean, eh?" he said with a wink and a nudge before seating himself, leaning his weight on one hand and crossing his legs casually. "I must say it's been a challenge to stay on top of my form, particularly since Buffy, Willow and Xander have brought others into the fold," he expounded. "But how could I object? Anya. Tara. They're both such lovely, charming girls; don't you agree?" he inquired with all the aplomb of a man commenting on a fair turn in the weather.

"Uh, yeah. They're, uh, swell," Al stammered, seemingly mesmerized by Giles' gentle smile. "All of them?" he echoed. "Seriously?"

"Of course not, you git!" Giles snapped, rising to his feet. "Do you honestly think I can't recognize a diversionary tactic?"

"You sneaky, sarcastic son-of-a-bitch," Al shot back, with a tinge of admiration, rather than censure, in his voice.

"So I've been told," Giles retorted. "Now, will you tell me what you have been so obviously trying to keep from me?"

Al considered the angry man for a moment while weighing his options. He had come to identify more and more with Giles as their acquaintanceship had progressed and Al suspected that, like himself, Giles would prefer to know even bad news rather than be kept in the dark by someone he hoped he could trust. The fact that they had discovered little, if anything, of value over the past two days tipped the scales over in Al's mind. "Okay," Al began slowly. "I didn't want to tell you and didn't really see the need since the plan is to save Buffy."

"But?" Giles snapped impatiently.

"You, uh," Al said, watching Giles carefully to gauge his reaction. "You didn't die with Buffy."

Giles went very still and quiet. He closed his eyes and reached up with one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Al was just beginning to think he should leave and allow the man some privacy with his grief when Giles dropped his hand away from his face, opened his eyes and captured Al's gaze. "You're sure Buffy died and I survived?" Giles asked in a composed, serious tone.

Al nodded. "Ziggy has records of you traveling all over the world. You stayed in America for a while after, you know; then back and forth to London a couple of times. After that, you're all over the place. We're not sure where you live, exactly. You don't seem to stay anywhere for very long." Al trailed off as Giles seemed to lose interest.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" Giles inquired.

Al met his eyes steadily. "I was pretty sure I knew how badly you would take it at the time."

"Under other circumstances I might have reacted very badly indeed," Giles admitted. "However, in this case there may be mitigating circumstances that make this information a cause for hope rather than gloom," he added.

"Really?" Al said, brightening.

"Yes. I believe there may exist a very detailed account of everything that transpired on the day Buffy died," Giles informed him. "All you need to do is find it."

End Part 13


	14. Chapter 14

Thursday March 22nd, 2007 ~ Waiting Room ~ Project Quantum Leap Compound ~ Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

The door to the Waiting Room slid open and Giles, who had been waiting with increasingly limited patience, jumped to his feet to greet Al.

"Did you find it?" Giles asked.

"Not exactly," Al told him. "Ziggy found an organization called COWS..."

Annoyed, Giles broke in, "I told you, the name of the organization is Council of Watchers, abbreviated COW. You've got the wrong..."

"Hey!" Al interrupted right back. "Who called my computer an 'infernal abomination'? You're lucky I managed to sweet talk her into searching for your precious Council at all. And, for your information, COWS stands for Congress of Watchers and Slayers. After she wiggled her way past some pretty nifty security, Ziggy found an archive of Council records that includes data from 2001. She's narrowing the search now."

"Really?" Giles responded, mollified. "'Congress of Watchers and Slayers'? How... progressive. And about bloody time, too. I wonder what prompted them to become so inclusive."

"Actually," Al replied. "A few years ago you seem to have..."

The appearance of a marine corporal with a thick sheaf of paper in his hands disrupted both men's interest in their conversation. He hurried over to Al and handed him the document.

"Gushie says most of the record was transcribed in June, 2001, Admiral," the young man informed Al. "But the text is labeled with the dates you specified; April 25th through May 4th, 2001."

Giles was only peripherally aware of Al thanking the man and the sound of the door opening and closing as he left. His attention was fixated on the stack of paper that would detail for him the stuff of his worst nightmares made real. Al moved toward him and offered the pages but Giles found it impossible to reach for them. He met Al's eyes and was both embarrassed and heartened by the sympathy he saw there.

"It's foolish, I know," Giles said, in a voice he could barely keep from trembling. "But, somehow, I feel as though, if I don't read it, it won't have happened. It won't be real." He took a deep breath and reached out, accepting the document from Al.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Al asked softly.

"No," Giles answered, surprised to realize he meant it. "I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind."

Al gave him a brief nod. "I'll stick around."

Giles took another steadying breath and focused his attention on the first page. When he had finished reading it, he lifted the piece of paper and held it out toward the location he had last seen Al. After a moment, he looked up to see that Al had moved several yards away and was regarding him with astonishment.

Giles gestured with the page he held in his outstretched hand. "Come on, then," he prompted. "This involves you and your friend now. If we're to keep it from happening again, Sam will need as close to firsthand knowledge as we can provide."

Al's expression shifted to one of understanding and respect. He walked back to Giles, accepted the page from him and seated himself next to the other man on the low table.

Over an hour passed in almost complete silence. When Giles handed the final page to Al, he rose and paced quietly away. He kept walking slowly around the room, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what he had read and to maintain some semblance of control over his emotional response to it. A few minutes later, his reverie was broken by the sound of a voice.

"Jesus," Al moaned. "Holy Mary mother of God."

Giles moved back around the room and came to a stop in front of Al who had remained seated and was unwrapping a cigar with shaking fingers. He didn't even attempt to light it, but fiddled with it in his hands as he looked up at Giles.

"Do... do you think you, uh, dictated that to someone or that they interviewed you and the others?" Al asked, nervously.

Giles shook his head. "No. I wrote it. I'm certain of that. I recognize my style and turn of phrase. In fact, if I still had any doubts about your veracity, that would have alleviated them," he added pointing at the uneven stack of paper resting on the table next to Al.

"Christ," Al intoned in a shaky voice. He gave Giles an uneasy glance. "I... I'm sorry Giles, but that really threw me. I just can't believe you could be so..."

"Cold-blooded?" Giles asked.

Al grimaced. "I was going to say detached, but cold-blooded works. I mean, if Sam... If I had to..." He gave Giles a look that suggested he was revising his opinion of the other man's character. "How could you write that...?" Al swallowed heavily. "So soon after she… she… and why were you so sure it existed in the first place?"

Giles offered him a grim smile. "A few months ago, Buffy had a close call. She was decidedly shaken by the brutal reminder of a Slayer's brief life expectancy. She was so affected; she actually initiated research of her own accord."

Despite his upset, Al responded to the dry humor in Giles' voice and the twinkle of affection in his eye. "What did she research?" he asked.

"She had me pull out all the old Watcher's diaries I had and anything that mentioned previous Slayers, however slightly, in an attempt to discover any pattern that might be discernible in the manner of their deaths. She wanted to avoid repeating their mistakes or lapses in judgment," Giles explained. "Buffy was quite vocal in registering her disdain with my predecessors and their failure to record, with any degree of detail, their Slayer's final battle."

"She didn't understand why they wouldn't... couldn't...?" Al began, incredulously.

"Not at first," Giles confirmed. "But, ultimately, yes."

Al nodded in dawning realization. "You decided..."

"Vowed," Giles interjected. "I vowed that, should the unthinkable occur, I would give her a legacy unlike any other Slayer." He felt a tear, alone among many others that had gathered in his eyes, crest over a lower eyelid and slide down his cheek.

Al glanced away and cleared his throat, but his voice was still thick when he spoke. "And because you kept your promise, we might be able to find a way to keep it from happening," he said, reverently laying a hand on the pile of paper.

"Must find a way," Giles corrected him. "Let's get to it."

* * *

"So we're agreed," Giles stated. "Our best chance at defeating Glory is to kill her while she is in her Ben persona." He shook his head. "All along I wondered why she didn't press her advantage when we experienced a setback and it turns out the answer was her Achilles' heel."

"Yeah," Al agreed, somewhat irritably. "I think we've fully explored the irony of the situation, but what we need to figure out is how to get someone to kill an apparently random, innocent guy."

"Much as I hate to admit it, I believe Spike is our best chance," Giles said with chagrin. "You can explain the problem to Sam, while Spike is present, and hopefully Sam will retain the information long enough to pass it on."

Al snapped his fingers. "The guy in there," he said pointing at the mess of papers that were strewn across the low table. "The first one who could remember that Ben was Glory," Al screwed up his face in thought. "Why was he able to do that, way before anyone else could?"

"Perhaps because he's a vampire," Giles replied. "Being undead and possessed by a demon may render him immune to her influence. Glory does have demon minions and it would be, at a minimum, inconvenient for her if they were unable to recognize the alter ego of their mistress," he reasoned.

"A **vampire**!" Al yelped. "You want us to work with one of those things? Are you trying to get Sam killed, in addition to Buffy?" Al accused.

"Of course not," Giles snapped. "While I admit Spike is both immoral and malicious he nonetheless has been of assistance to us in the past. Prompted by his own nefarious motivations, to be sure; but he can be relied upon to perform any task that runs parallel to his own interests."

"Which are?" Al countered, unconvinced.

"Most notably, to extort money for blood, liquor and cigarettes and to win Buffy's affection," Giles informed him.

"I can see you going along with the money part, but you're okay with the other?" Al inquired, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"Hardly," Giles assured him in a sour voice. "But, as I said, when properly motivated he has proven to be invaluable."

"Okay," Al agreed, grudgingly. "If you're sure this is a good idea. How do we go about finding this pet vampire of yours?"

"He's not a pet **anything** and you'll do well to keep that in mind," Giles cautioned. "As for finding him, it's quite rare that one need expend any effort in that regard. Rather, he's most decidedly present whether one likes it or not," Giles said, sardonically.

"Buffy did mention him the first night Sam was there," Al nodded, remembering. "Something about how she didn't plan to invite him to stay with her. I haven't heard anyone else mention him," Al shrugged. "I guess he either hasn't been around or we saw him and didn't know who he was. What does he look like?"

"He appears to be around thirty, affects a working-class English accent, slim, short bleach-blond hair," Giles told him. "He smokes, wears black almost exclusively - usually a T-shirt, jeans, heavy boots and a leather duster."

As Giles rattled off the description, Al had become increasingly disturbed. He was now staring at the taller man, his mouth hanging slightly open. Giles misinterpreted the cause of Al's apparent dismay.

"Oh, and you needn't be concerned about him hurting Sam. The Initiative scientists implanted a microchip in his brain. If he attempts to harm any living creature, other than a demon, it inflicts debilitating pain," Giles added, hoping to reassure the other man. It didn't appear to be working. "Is something wrong?" he asked, when Al's stare began to annoy him.

"Uh, maybe," Al said. "Does he hang out in Restfield cemetery and call you 'Watcher'?"

"Why, yes," Giles nodded. "He lives in a crypt in a section of Restfield that was, interestingly enough..." he trailed off as the shocked expression on Al's face changed to one of guilt.

"Oops," Al said, fidgeting and looking anywhere except at Giles.

"What now?" Giles demanded.

Al let out a long sigh and related an abbreviated account of Sam's first patrol. When he had finished, a hushed silence settled over the room but it only lasted a moment.

"You **staked** him?" the Watcher roared, rising from his seat and looming over the smaller man.

"I didn't, Sam did," Al qualified, then seemingly realized how that sounded. "Not that I wouldn't have done it if our places had been reversed. He was a **vampire**," Al reminded Giles, refusing to be intimidated by the other man's size or demeanor. Al held his ground, meeting Giles' furious glare with steely determination.

"But one that couldn't cause you physical harm," Giles countered, incensed that their best chance at defeating Glory and saving Buffy had been obliterated by the interference of Al and Sam.

"It's not like we knew that, Mr. 'I-Won't-Tell-You-Anything'," Al shot back, with righteous indignation. "You're at least as much to blame for this mess as we are."

Giles subsided as he acknowledged the truth of that statement. In all fairness, he couldn't blame Sam for accomplishing something he and Buffy had failed at repeatedly over the years. For every time Spike had assisted them there were at least as many where he had duped them, subverted their efforts to do good or tried to kill them outright. Even after he had been 'neutered' by the Initiative he had nearly accomplished their deaths more than once.

"I apologize," Giles told Al sincerely.

"Okay," Al agreed. "But, you know, no sense crying over spilt milk, uh, dusted vampire. We just need to figure out something else."

They talked it over for another half an hour without coming to a solution either of them felt confident would succeed. Finally, Al summed up the source of their frustration in one sentence.

"Even if I explain it to Sam or Anya and they tell Buffy who Ben really is, none of them will remember long enough to understand why they should kill him." Al stalked away, combing his fingers through his hair in agitation. He stopped and let out a long sigh.

"And?" Giles prompted, sensing that something else had been bothering Al.

Al turned sharply. "And I don't like the idea of asking Sam to do it, even if he could remember long enough."

Before Giles could muster an argument Al continued.

"Sam is a good guy. A hero," Al said firmly. "The real kind. He's honest and decent clear through. It'll kill him, or at least something vital in him, to have to do this."

"Glory sealed Ben's fate the moment she merged with him in order to manifest herself, physically, in this world. Do you honestly think she won't kill him if she is allowed to return to her dimension? Even if she doesn't, he will be doomed to live out a life of torment in hell," Giles reasoned quietly.

"I get that, Giles," Al assured him, tiredly. "I really do. If it were me or... you..." He looked up tentatively.

"Yes," Giles responded, without rancor. "We understand the moral dilemma of the lesser of two evils."

"Both sides. Intimately," Al agreed. "And neither one of us wants Buffy or Sam to have the same education. Do we?"

Giles was silent for a long time. "Sam may have already changed the course of events by being there in my place. If we do nothing, Glory may kill thousands when she opens the portal, perhaps millions, including Sam and Buffy."

"Or Buffy might still find a way to stop her," Al said.

"If she dies, will Sam Leap?" Giles asked him.

Al nodded. "He's... he's failed before."

"I see," Giles said. He sighed and suddenly felt exhausted and unsettled. His previous exultation when they had discovered his journal entries and thought an acceptable answer to the problem of Glory might be in reach had waned once more into the realization that he was still helpless to effect any direct action from where he was – and he didn't seem to be much more successful at providing a viable strategy that was entirely acceptable, either. "We can continue to discuss this as long as you like," Giles added, in a defeated tone. "But I suppose you realize the final decision is entirely in your hands."

"Yeah," Al replied heavily. "I get that, too."

End Part 14


	15. Chapter 15

Sunday, April 29th, 2001 ~ Summers' Residence ~ Sunnydale, California

A flash of bright light and a rumbling noise roused Sam from a light slumber. Darkness had reasserted itself in the room, so Sam reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp. He reflexively glanced at the clock radio and then blinked at Al. "What's wrong? It's after midnight."

"Yeah, for me too," Al replied. "Sorry, but it's urgent. Is Buffy here?"

Sam nodded, sitting up in bed. "She came home almost an hour ago. She said it was quiet and she didn't want to be away from Dawn any longer than necessary."

"Up here or downstairs?" Al asked.

"She went to bed a little while ago," Sam responded, rubbing his eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Good," Al said. "Get dressed and we'll talk in the kitchen."

"Dressed?" Sam echoed, still unclear as to what Al wanted. He rose and reached for his clothes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing good," Al muttered.

* * *

Sam was tempted to pinch himself to see if he were dreaming. The story Al had told him was simply too bizarre, too frightening - even after what he had experienced on this Leap - to be believed.

"So, if I understand you correctly, you want me to kill a guy named Ben?" Sam asked in confusion.

"I don't want you to have to do it, Sam, but it's the only chance I can see for you to save Buffy. And maybe a whole bunch of other people and, er... things," Al said.

"If Glory needs Dawn to open this dimensional portal, why don't we just send her away and hide her?" Sam wanted to know. "Maybe we can get those Council guys Giles knows to keep her safe."

Al shook his head firmly. "Giles says there's no way Buffy would send her away where she couldn't protect her personally. And she doesn't really trust the Council." Before Sam could object, Al raised a hand and continued. "Before you say it, Buffy can't go haring off into the blue with Dawn, either. She has to stay here and fight the things the Hellmouth attracts; or spews out."

Sam thought about the situation Al had described a little longer. "Glory still doesn't know Dawn is the Key," Sam said. "Maybe we can keep her from finding out."

"That's a big maybe, Sam," Al said, shaking his head. "And it doesn't completely solve the problem. Glory will still be here, in this world, sucking people's brains and doing God knows what else."

"Okay, so we have to get rid of Glory. I guess killing a hell-god is a good thing. But what does that have to do with some guy named Ben?" Sam asked.

"Oy," Al groaned, slapping his forehead. "Why did we stake Spike? A couple hundred bucks, some smokes, a gallon or two of blood, a smooch from Buffy. It could have been so easy."

Sam watched his friend, waiting for an answer that made sense.

Al scrubbed his face with one hand and then met Sam's eyes. "I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. Giles was worried I wouldn't remember when I visited you, even though my actual brain is a long distance and several years away from here."

"Remember what?" Sam asked patiently.

"Go find some paper and something to write with," Al sighed wearily. "Then I'll explain it again."

* * *

Sam and Al inspected the note Sam had written to Al's dictation.

"Weird," Al observed. "It's not your handwriting."

Sam nodded. "Muscle memory or something left over from the host, I guess," he said. "My brainwaves, their physicality." Sam frowned at the first two lines he had written on the page. They didn't make sense, so he pointed to them. "Is that what you told me to write?" he asked Al.

"Yes!" Al snapped.

Sam was taken aback at Al's display of temper. "Sorry, it's just..."

"Never mind; you trust me, right?" Al asked him.

"You know I do," Sam answered immediately, with conviction.

Al smiled and Sam watched some of the tension ease from his friend's face.

"Okay, then. Let's take this one step at a time. Fold the note and put it in your pocket." When Sam had completed this task, Al pointed at the kitchen counter. "Grab Giles' keys and let's go."

Sunday, April 29th, 2001 ~ Sunnydale General Hospital ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam parked Giles' car and climbed out. "Why did we come to the hospital?"

"One step at a time, buddy," Al said, gently. "We're looking for a young guy named Ben. He's an intern so I'm hoping he has to pull the graveyard shift in addition to daytime hours. If not, we'll stick around 'til we find him."

"Okay," Sam agreed, puzzled by Al's unusual behavior but confident his friend wouldn't lead him astray.

Al proceeded to repeat the description Giles had given him as he and Sam entered the hospital. They crossed the lobby and went through a set of swinging doors into a wide hallway. Sam paused to get his bearings and Al scanned the faces of the few medical personnel who were in view.

"Admissions over there, emergency on that side," Sam murmured in a voice low enough to carry only as far as Al. "Where do you think we should try first?"

"I dunno," Al said, glancing up at the wall clock. "What's the most likely place for an intern to be at 2:30 in the morning?"

Sam turned in a slow circle. "It looks pretty quiet," he whispered. "Maybe he's trying to catch..."

"What, a nurse?" Al joked. He looked over to see Sam motioning unobtrusively at a figure that had just exited a door that read 'Staff Only'.

"I was going to say nap," Sam said, softly, turning so that he wasn't facing the young man who was approaching them. "But doesn't that look like our guy?"

"Yeah, he does," Al agreed.

The man turned down another hallway a few yards before reaching Sam's position.

"Let's go, Sam," Al called urgently, heading toward the retreating figure.

Sam hurried after him. Neither he nor Al noticed the three men, who had been standing at the Admissions desk, trade glances and then follow them.

* * *

Sam and Al burst through a door out into the night.

"Call his name," Al ordered.

"Hey, Ben!" Sam called.

The stranger, who had reached the bottom of a ramp that ran along the side of the hospital to the staff parking lot, turned.

"Yes?" he replied, in a somewhat startled but friendly voice. "I'm sorry, who are you? Did you need something?"

"Go down there, Sam. Take it easy and don't spook him. When you get close enough, grab him," Al told Sam.

Sam glanced at Al in surprise.

"Please, Sam!" Al implored him. "Just do it. Trust me. Don't let him get away!"

The urgency in Al's voice and Sam's firm belief in his friend spurred him on. He moved, as casually as he could manage, down the ramp toward the young man.

"I just need to speak to you for a moment," Sam said. Ben stood waiting for him and, as he closed the last few feet of distance, Sam lunged. He pinned the other man against the brick wall with one forearm against his neck. Sam grasped one of his arms and leaned his body sideways to trap the other between his side and the wall. "Now what, Al?" Sam panted, struggling to restrain Ben without hurting him too badly.

"Sam," Al said firmly. "Listen to me. That is Glory."

"Glory?" Sam echoed, loudly. He glanced at Al and took in the deadly serious look on the shorter man's face, then looked back at the man he had pinned to the wall. "You're Glory?"

"How... how did you know?" Ben choked. His attempts to free himself had caused Sam to apply more pressure against him as he struggled.

"You have to kill him, Sam," Al went on, grimly.

"Kill him!" Sam cried.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Al said. "But ya gotta do it. I hope like hell this is one of the things that gets lost in that Swiss-cheese effect Leaping has on your brain, but ya gotta do it."

Sam could hear the frantic tone in Al's voice and he wanted desperately to trust him but he was so confused.

"He's Glory!" Al shouted. "If you don't kill him, he's gonna change into her and Buffy will die, along with who knows how many others. He's Glory," Al said again.

"You're Glory and you're going to kill Buffy," Sam repeated, willing himself to obey Al against all his instincts.

"I'm sorry," Ben pleaded with him. "But it isn't my **fault**! She... she merged with me when I was just a baby! I haven't done anything wrong! I can't control her! I've tried but I can't stop her."

Ben was crying now and Sam felt himself begin to weaken, he struggled to maintain the resolve that Al knew what was best but it was so hard...

"Sam!" Al shouted.

Sam firmed up his grip on Ben and began to turn just as a heavy blow sent him reeling into the brick wall. He fell and rolled once, twice and came to rest at the bottom of the ramp. Sam's vision blurred and he felt dizzy, but he managed to partially prop himself up against the outside corner of the building. Al crouched down next to him.

"Sam, are you okay?" Al asked in a rough voice.

"I... I... think... not sure," Sam mumbled. He squinted, trying to see what was happening just around the corner of the building. He could just make out the figures of two men holding Ben immobile and a third standing in front of them. "Who are they? What's happening?" Sam wondered aloud. He crawled forward, ignoring the sickening roiling in his gut and the pounding in his head. Al moved up beside him and, when he stopped moving, Sam realized he could hear the third stranger speaking.

"So this is how the evil one has evaded our detection," the man said in a deep, resonant voice. "But now Divine Providence has put you at our mercy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ben panted. "I'm not evil."

"Perhaps not, but you have been touched by it - the One We Do Not Name. We will free you of her torment and send you to your reward." The large man reached out and grasped Ben's head with both hands. There was a sickening crunch and the other two men released their hold on Ben's arms. The body of the young intern fell limply to the ground with a solid thump.

Sam moaned as the large man turned and moved toward him.

"You are the Watcher, are you not?" the man inquired.

Sam nodded mutely, regretting the movement immediately as another wave of agony pulsed through his skull and his stomach threatened to empty itself.

"We, the Knights of Byzantium, thank you for allowing us this honor. We will return to our encampment now to consult with our seer. If the evil one is truly banished we will depart. Tell your Slayer the Key is no longer of any concern to us." The man turned and motioned to his two companions and they strode away into the night.

"J... Jesus," Sam breathed.

"You said it, pal," Al responded. "Who writes that guy's material?"

The laugh that tried to escape Sam came out more as a gurgle. "Al," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Please tell me I'm ready to Leap now."

Al stiffened. Both men could hear the warbling of his hand-link. "Holy shit!" Al exclaimed, yanking the device from his pocket. He punched a button. "Yes!" he crowed in exultation. "Buffy doesn't die!"

Sam smiled and sagged heavily against the wall.

"Hey buddy," Al exclaimed. "Stay with me. Probably not a good idea for you to Leap while you're unconscious." He kept punching buttons. "Sam, are you... whoa! Ziggy says Sunnydale is back on the map. How could saving Buffy keep the town from...?"

Sam didn't care that he never heard the end of Al's question. His smile widened as he felt the tingling sensation of the Leap effect carrying him away.

* * *

Giles groaned and struggled to comprehend his situation. The throbbing agony in his skull and the almost overwhelming nausea were recognizable, at least. He stretched out a hand and felt the familiar shape of his glasses under his palm. Giles lifted them carefully and was relieved to find they were unbroken. He put them on and shifted his body against the solid surface behind him. When he managed to get himself into an upright, seated position, he rested for a moment and tried to remember where he was and what he had been doing. Nothing came to him except the notion that, if he were injured, Buffy might be in trouble. He was fairly certain he could manage to stand now, if he started from a crouch, so he rolled slowly to one side until he was propped up on his hands and knees. As he moved forward slightly, his knuckles brushed against fabric. He extended his hand and encountered a warm limb, covered in what felt like light cotton.

"Buffy!" he gasped. He moved his hand again and, this time, grasped a forearm that bore too much hair to be that of his Slayer. Giles shoved his hand into the right hand pocket of his pants pocket and pulled out his key chain. He fumbled with the switch on the tiny but powerful flashlight that hung from the ring. The beam illuminated the face of Ben, a young intern Giles had met on one of his frequent visits to the hospital over the past few months. His head was bent at a sickening, unnatural angle and his eyes were wide open and lifeless.

"Oh, dear Lord," Giles breathed.

End Part 15


	16. Chapter 16

Sunday, April 29th, 2001 ~ Sunnydale General Hospital ~ Sunnydale, California

Giles staggered to his feet and shuffled a few, halting backwards steps away from the corpse. He thumbed off the flashlight and thrust his key ring back into his pocket then leaned against the brick wall of the hospital and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heartbeat.

The adrenaline that had been pumped into his system at the sight of the dead man had temporarily overwhelmed the symptoms of what Giles suspected was another concussion but only heightened his confused state of mind.

Had he and Ben been the victims of the same assailant or had he killed Ben? He hadn't seen or heard any evidence of another person in the vicinity since he regained consciousness and he knew he was capable of breaking a man's neck with his bare hands but why would he do so? Had he come to the hospital to have his head injury tended or was it the result of an altercation after he arrived here? If Ben had attacked him then he had killed in self-defense but, try as he might, Giles couldn't remember anything of the recent past. The last he could recall it had been late afternoon and his internal clock and the lack of activity around the hospital suggested it was very late at night or early morning.

No answers seemed to be forthcoming and to tarry here would be foolhardy. The police were as affected by the same selective blindness that afflicted most of the residents of Sunnydale but they weren't idiots. If someone found him here he would be arrested on the spot. He hesitated for a moment, wondering what he might have touched near the corpse, but realized that his lack of memory meant he would have to either wipe down every surface in the immediate area or pray that he hadn't left his fingerprints. Praying was all he had time for so he sent his heartfelt plea heavenward as he stumbled toward the visitor's parking lot; hoping that he had driven here - head injury or no.

Giles found his car parked halfway across the nearly empty lot. He scrambled into the driver's seat and mumbled a thank you to whatever Power had assisted him in escaping the scene unobserved as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

The clock in the dashboard confirmed his earlier suspicion; it was a few minutes after three in the morning. As he stopped at the first traffic light, Giles realized he had no idea where he was going; he had only thought to get away from the hospital as quickly as possible. His inclination was to go home, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that, since he had been in a dangerous situation, Buffy and the others might have encountered trouble as well. The light turned green and Giles accelerated slowly across the intersection, deciding that a trip to Buffy's house would either enlighten him if there was activity there or put his mind at rest if all was quiet. If no one was stirring in the house he would leave a note for Buffy to call him when she awoke.

His level of concern jumped slightly as he rounded the corner onto Revello Drive and saw lights shining from all the downstairs windows of the Summers residence. He pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. Giles had barely managed to exit his car when the front door to the house crashed open and his Slayer darted straight towards him.

Buffy flung her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Her voice was muffled due to the fact that her face was pressed firmly into his chest. "Giles, thank God! Where did you go?" she demanded, breathlessly. "I was so worried when I realized you weren't in the house."

Giles had raised his arms reflexively as Buffy had come into contact with his body and he stood, flabbergasted at the uncharacteristic liberties Buffy was taking, with his arms twitching as he fought between dual impulses - one telling him to extricate himself from her touch immediately and the other insisting that he return her embrace. He took a steadying breath and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, which he squeezed lightly before easing her upper body away from his torso.

The streetlight illuminated her face sufficiently for Giles to see the remnants of tension in the set of her mouth. They each took a step backwards and Giles slid his hands off her shoulders and let them hang at his sides.

"Where did you go, Giles?" Buffy repeated, more insistently.

"I... I was... How did you know I was anywhere but home?" Giles stammered, even more unsettled now than when an unexplained dead body and the possibility that Buffy, Dawn and the Scoobies might be in danger had been the only things on his mind.

Buffy tilted her head, confusion wrinkling her brow. "Home? Why would you..." she broke off and shook her head. She reached out, took his hand and gave it a tug. "Let's go inside. We're standing out here in the dark and I don't even have a stake on me."

Giles, faced with the choice of wrenching his hand from her firm grip or acceding to her request, followed her docilely into the house.

Buffy shut the door behind them and turned to confront him. "Still waiting for an answer, Giles," she reminded him. "Where did you...?" her frown deepened as she scrutinized his face. "You're hurt," she announced.

Giles lifted a hand to the side of his head, where a persistent throbbing had reasserted itself. "I'm afraid so," he admitted. "But not too badly, I think."

Buffy's expression suggested she wasn't convinced. She took his arm and led him into the dining room. "Sit down so I can take a look at that."

Giles complied with her order and winced only slightly as Buffy gently fingered his hair aside to inspect the wound. Finally, she removed her hands from his head and leaned forward to look him in the eyes.

"You've got a big ol' bump, some fairly impressive bruising and a nasty abrasion there, Watcher-mine," she informed him with a sigh. "Your head is one of your best features. Why do you keep damaging it?"

"It is purely unintentional on my part, I assure you," Giles replied, dryly.

"There isn't a lot I can do for it," she admitted. "Other than clean off the dried blood, disinfect it and put a bandage on. Did you get knocked out? Are you dizzy or nauseous?" she asked. "It looks like it was a pretty hard blow. Maybe we should go to the hospital."

"**NO**!" Giles barked.

Buffy stepped back, startled.

"I, um, sorry," Giles apologized. Buffy sat down in the chair next to him.

"What's wrong, Giles? What happened?" she inquired softly.

Giles turned sideways on his chair so that he was facing her. "I'm not certain; but there's something important I need to tell you," he said seriously.

Dawn's voice came from the stairway. "Buffy, who's here?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at the interruption. "It's Giles," Buffy called back and then continued in a lower tone as the teenager rounded the corner and stepped into the room. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Dawn crossed her arms and huffed out a frustrated breath. "I told you it **wasn't** a nightmare! Something woke me up and then I remembered. Why don't you ever believe me?" she whined.

Buffy turned to Giles. "Hold that confession, please," she requested, unaware of the start her choice of words gave Giles. "Dawn woke up screaming a little while ago. After I got her settled down I noticed you hadn't come out of your room to see what was going on. When I found your bed empty and couldn't find you anywhere in the house I was scared that Glory's minions might have made off with you somehow."

That explained one thing Giles had been wondering about; why all the lights had been on and Buffy had been up and dressed at three in the morning - without clarifying why Buffy had expected to find him in her house at that hour. He turned to Dawn. "What was your nightmare about?" he asked, not yet prepared to tackle the other question.

"It-was-not-a-nightmare," Dawn ground out between clenched teeth. "I woke up and I remembered seeing Ben - you know the cute doctor guy? - turn into Glory; that time I ran away to the hospital. I wasn't dreaming and I'm **not** making it up!"

Giles was certain he felt his heart stop. "What... what did you say?"

"Giles, what's wrong? You just went pale as a ghost. Is it your head?" Buffy asked, reaching out and touching his arm.

"Just a moment, please, Buffy." Giles gently pushed her hand away and turned fully toward Dawn. "What did you say about Ben?"

Dawn, obviously feeling vindicated that an adult was **finally** listening to her, sent a smug look Buffy's way before replying. "I saw Ben turn into Glory. I was talking to him and he started getting... weird. He got all frantic and told me to run because she was coming. I didn't understand; at least not 'til he morphed into Glory. It happened right while I was looking at him. You guys know the rest of it." Dawn took a few small steps forward. "I'm not lying. It really happened," she added, insistently.

Giles gave her a fleeting smile and a nod. "I believe you, Dawn," he assured her.

"Giles don't encourage her," Buffy complained. "She's just trying to..."

"Dawn," Giles said, raising his voice to cut off Buffy's rant. "Will you bring some warm water, clean hand towels and the first aid kit to your sister so she can tend to my injury, please?"

"Sure. I'll be right back," Dawn agreed happily. She bounced into the kitchen.

"Why did you tell her you believe her, Giles?" Buffy challenged, after the door swung shut behind her younger sister.

"Because less than an hour ago I regained consciousness to find myself lying next to Ben's dead body; his neck was broken and, although I don't remember doing so, it seems I may have killed him," Giles told her.

Buffy stared at him in complete astonishment. "You... you **killed** him! You murdered a person? A human being?" she finally managed to utter.

Giles sighed deeply. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he did so to give himself a moment to think and avoid the look of disappointment and incredulity his Slayer was directing at him. "I said I may have done," Giles corrected her. He removed his hand from his face, letting his glasses settle into place before turning his gaze back to Buffy. "And if Dawn is correct, he wasn't just any human being."

The two silently regarded one another. Giles considered whether his belief in Dawn's revelation might be wishful thinking on his part but something deep and indefinable told him that Ben's death had been necessary.

"If we discover proof that Ben and Glory were one in the same, I'll not apologize; even if I did kill him," Giles told her gently but firmly. "I have a duty to you and the world and if that requires me to commit murder to prevent the spread of supernatural evil then that is what I will do. Especially if I can prevent your taking the burden of that stain upon your soul," he added, suppressed emotion straining his tone. "Even if the result is that you feel nothing but contempt..."

"Don't say that, Giles." Buffy's eyes were bright with moisture and her voice shook. "I could never hate you; but sometimes it scares me when I'm faced with the reality of what you're willing to do for me. It's... it's just, I don't know, awesome and horrible all at the same time."

Giles forced back an almost uncontrollable urge to apologize for being so dedicated to her. How bizarre that would seem after insisting that he wouldn't apologize for committing murder! In a way, it proved her point and Giles remained silent. Even if the irony wasn't lost on Buffy it wouldn't make her feel any better.

Dawn returned laden with the items he had requested she retrieve. The girl hesitated before reaching the table. "Do you guys need a minute or something?" she asked tentatively.

Giles realized the tension in the room must have been even greater than he thought if it prompted Dawn, who was forever complaining that she was left out of everything, to offer them some privacy. He sent her a brief smile. "No, it's fine."

Dawn smiled back and delivered her cargo to Buffy. Giles removed his glasses to give Buffy unfettered access to the side of his head. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, an almost automatic action whenever he took off his glasses. As he pulled the square of cloth from his pocket, a folded piece of paper popped out and fell to the floor. Dawn, who was standing behind the chairs occupied by Buffy and Giles, bent down to retrieve it.

"What's this?" she asked, while unfolding the note.

"Dawn!" Buffy objected after glancing over to see what her sister was doing. "What have I told you about snooping?"

"I'm not snooping," Dawn said, defensively. "I'm just... omigod! Buffy, look at this!" she squeaked, eyes wide.

"You're not going to make me an accomplice," Buffy replied, while carefully bathing Giles' wound with warm water laced with antiseptic. "Give it back to Giles."

"No, **seriously** you **have** to look at this," Dawn insisted, stepping forward between the two adults and flattening the sheet of notepaper on the table in front of them.

Giles and Buffy looked down. Clearly written in Giles' bold handwriting was a note which read:

'_Ben is Glory. _

_Glory is Ben. _

_A spell is bound up in their merging that prevents humans from retaining this knowledge if they discover the secret. _

_Details about Glory and her intentions can be found in a carved wood box kept by a demon named Doc who lives in his shop on Elm St. _

_Glory must be prevented from achieving her goal. She will not only destroy the Key but countless other lives as well. _

_Glory is invincible in her own form but Ben is mortal and their life forces are inextricably joined._'

After reading the note through several times, Giles looked up into Buffy's shocked expression.

"How did you know?" Buffy whispered.

"I... I have no idea," Giles replied, aborting a head shake when a flare of pain lanced through his temple.

"But," Buffy said, glancing from Giles' face to the note and back. "You wrote that, didn't you?"

"It **is** my handwriting," Giles confirmed, lifting the piece of paper to get a closer look. "But I don't remember having any of this information much less writing it down."

"It says Glory's gonna... she's gonna..." Dawn voice was quavering and trailed off into a loud gulp.

Giles folded the note shut. Buffy turned and took Dawn's hand. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let it," Buffy told her firmly. "You know that don't you?"

Dawn nodded slightly. "I know you **want** to keep me safe but what if..."

Buffy squeezed her hand. "No buts. No what ifs. I won't let anyone hurt you, kiddo. Okay?"

Giles watched the two sisters examine each other's faces until Dawn finally returned Buffy's gentle smile. Buffy let go of Dawn's hand and straightened in her chair.

"Giles and I need to talk for a while. Will you go watch out for Xander and Anya? I don't want them out in the dark any longer than necessary but don't unlock the door until they're on the porch, okay?" Buffy asked Dawn.

"Standard safety rules apply, got it," Dawn acknowledged before leaving the room.

"Xander and Anya are coming over here at this hour?" Giles inquired.

Buffy picked up the damp towel and resumed cleaning Giles' wound. "I needed someone to stay with Dawn while I went looking for you."

"Ah," Giles replied. He lifted the note into his line of sight. "Do you suppose Dawn remembered about Ben changing into Glory after I... when Ben died?"

"I guess that makes sense," Buffy said.

"We need to go and find this Doc creature," Giles stated.

"No," Buffy said resolutely as she set down the towel and began to spread ointment on Giles' abraded skin. "**You** need to stay here and take it easy while **I** go demon hunting."

"You shouldn't go alone. We aren't certain of anything, yet," Giles argued.

"Except that I'd bet anything you can name that you have a concussion. You were unconscious and you can't remember stuff. You didn't answer me when I asked you if you've been dizzy or nauseous which is enough to tell me you have." Buffy finished taping a gauze pad in place before turning Giles' face away from the note and toward her. "You're **not** going back out there tonight."

Before Giles could argue further, Dawn's shout came from the living room. "They're here!" Her bouncing footsteps could be heard approaching and the front door swung open.

As the couple moved forward into the entryway they turned their tired faces toward the movement in the dining room.

"Hey, G-man," Xander greeted Giles. "You don't look like you're missing to me."

Anya raced into the dining room and, to the astonishment of all present, flung her arms around Giles' neck. "Giles! It's you. It's really you! You're back!" she exclaimed, rocking back and forth with Giles' face planted firmly in her bosom.

End Part 16


End file.
